


The Witch-Hunter

by AltheaG



Series: The Nigel Chaucer Chronicles [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Nigel Chaucer - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Murder, Mystery, Obsession, Serial Killer, Stalker, black magic, deranged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AltheaG/pseuds/AltheaG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finally, Nigel Chaucer can settle down with Ginny Weasley into a comfortable life as a Healer, husband and father. His marriage to Ginny is strong, his children are growing fast, and he's gained a strong reputation in the community for his work on potion making and helping to heal witches and wizards with mental illnesses. So when he finds himself a victim of a dangerous muggle stalker, Nigel's very life is in danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happy Birthday!

“If you think I’m going to wear that, Chaucer, you’re a greater fool than I previously thought.”

“Oh come on, Severus! It’s your birthday! Live it up for once!”

Severus Snape took the green paper birthday hat and crumpled it with his long, slender fingers, then tossed it carelessly aside. A scowl of discontent briefly marred his sallow features, but that couldn’t stop Nigel Weasley-Chaucer, from laughing out loud. His wife, Ginny, gave Snape a conciliatory pat on the shoulder, then served him a piece of chocolate birthday cake.

“Happy birthday, Severus,” she said, pushing wisps of her fierce red hair out of her eyes.

A child’s laugh cheered the room. Ginny and Snape both looked over to the stretch of ruby and gold Persian rug near the television, only to see little George Chaucer slap a blue birthday hat on the head of raven-haired Aurora Snape. But then, four year-old Aurora tore off the hat, and like her father, crumpled it up in her fat little hand—however, instead of tossing it aside, she stuffed it down George’s shirt. Five year-old Freddy Chaucer squealed with laughter at the whole episode.

Severus Snape rolled his eyes and smirked wickedly.

“Like father, like daughter,” Ginny quipped. She sighed.

“True,” Snape replied. He took a bite of the cake and washed it down with a long sip of brandy.

Their attention was distracted again, but this time by a child’s piercing wail. A rather weary Draco Malfoy reluctantly set down his snifter of brandy and went over to the children’s play area, where he squatted down next to a very cranky Abraxas. Draco mussed his son’s hair and picked him up.

“Come on, kid,” he said, a note of impatience in his voice. “You’ve got to stop this.” He sat Abraxas on his lap and looked into his son’s eyes.

“Where’s Mummy?” Abraxas wailed.

“She’s away right now, remember? I already told you.”

“When’s she coming home?”

“Hey, let’s not worry about that, okay?” Draco kissed his son’s forehead and set him back on his feet. “Now go on and play. Don’t let Freddy take all the blocks again. You show him a thing or two.”

Draco sat back down next to a sniggering Ron Weasley, and threw him a vicious glare.

“Tough time parenting, Malfoy?” Ron asked.

Draco grumbled. “He’s been like this all week. It’s driving me mad!”

“Pansy traveling again?” Hermione asked.

Draco nodded. “Permanently this time,” he said quietly, taking another long drink from his snifter.

Silence.

“Don’t lie to him, Draco,” Snape said.

Draco nodded his head. “I know. But it only just happened last week.”

“It’s not like it’s unexpected or anything,” Hermione said. “It was going to happen eventually.”

“Thanks, Granger,” Draco muttered sourly.

She put a hand on his arm. “Sorry.”

The mood of the party was growing far too dark for Nigel to stand. He got to his feet, pointed a finger at the pile of birthday gifts on the front table, and summoned them over to the dining room where they sat, resting them at Snape’s feet. Snape eyed him cautiously.

“And what is all this?” he asked stiffly.

“Those are called presents, Severus,” replied Allegra, his partner. “Would you like our Aurora to come and explain the concept of presents to you?”

“I think she is quite clear on the concept,” Snape said silkily. “She seems to get them frequently enough.”

“Mmm, from you mostly,” Allegra reminded him.

Snape shrugged. “It’s a father’s duty to spoil his daughter. It’s only fair.”

“You haven’t spoiled your son,” Nigel said.

“He’s too young for that. Besides, I did something far worse, far more daunting. I named him after you.”

Nigel blushed.

“That’s not fair!” Draco said. “How’s he supposed to live up to that?”

“Allegra,” Hermione asked curiously, “what about your daughter? Why did you name her Aurora?”

Allegra grinned at that. “We named her after Aurora Sinistra. Remember her?”

“Professor Sinistra?” Harry Potter asked. “She taught…I don’t remember.”

“Astronomy,” Hermione replied rather authoritatively. “She was wonderful.”

“During my one year as Hogwarts teacher, Aurora and I had a brief…well…relationship,” Allegra explained.

Ron raised his eyebrows in alarm. “But wait, I mean she’s a…well I just thought…never mind.”

Snape glared at Ron briefly.

“Anyway,” Allegra continued, “it ended rather badly. I was a bit of a mess, actually.”

“I picked her up off the floor of the Hog’s Head, actually,” Snape said. “Stinking drunk. Disgraceful.”

“Well anyway,” Allegra continued, “if it weren’t for Severus, I don’t know what I would have done. He was very good to me, and that’s what drew us together.”

“It’s funny how that happens so much,” Nigel noted. “You just can never tell how people are going to get together.”

“Just don’t do it like I did,” Draco said bitterly.

“You mean screw first, ask questions later?” Nigel asked bitingly.

“And use protection,” Draco added.

“How about not screwing at all?” Ginny offered. “You know, maybe wait until marriage?”

Allegra eyed Snape carefully. “Yes, Severus, you know, _marriage_? You’re familiar with the term?”

“Vaguely,” he said dismissively. “Your point?”

“Well call me old-fashioned, but I quite like the idea of marriage.”

“Here here!” Ginny cheered, raising her wine glass. “I can tell you from seven years of experience that marriage is definitely a good thing.”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Snape said. “I’ve been happily unmarried now for some time, and it suits me quite well.”

“So how many times have you had this argument, Allegra?” Ginny asked, laughing.

“We’re down to once a week,” Allegra replied, giving Snape a slightly disdainful look.

“Lay down the law,” Ginny said. “No ring, no shag.”

Everyone laughed, including Snape.

“They have two kids!” Ron pointed out. “I bet they don’t have time to shag any more!”

“We have three, and we find plenty of time,” Ginny shot back.

“OK, can we not talk about people’s private sex lives please?” Harry said impatiently.

Another wail from the children’s area, and again, Draco went to the rescue. This time, Abraxas was crying because Freddy had taken his toy dinosaur and was trying to feed it to his youngest brother, Tom. Nigel rushed over, too, and carefully extracted the dinosaur from Freddy’s strong grip. He knelt down before his son so he could look right into Freddy’s dark eyes.

“Freddy, remember what I told you about taking other children’s toys?” Nigel said.

Freddy hung his head and pouted.

“Freddy, I want you to give that back to Abraxas, and I want you to say sorry,” Nigel went on.

Freddy hesitated. Nigel frowned.

“Freddy,” Nigel said, his voice a little more stern. “Go on. Give Abraxas his toy and say sorry.”

Reluctantly, a repentant Freddy Chaucer turned over to Abraxas, whose face was stained with his tears. He thrust the dinosaur into his hands and mumbled a very abashed, quiet “sorry.”

Now it was Draco’s turn. “What do you say, Abraxas?”

Instead of responding to the apology, Abraxas threw his arms around his father’s neck, not wanting to talk. But that wouldn’t do for Draco. He dislodged his son from his shoulders and turned him around to face Freddy.

“Abraxas, Freddy said he’s sorry. What do you say?” Draco asked. He leaned forward and whispered something in Abraxas’ ear.

Suddenly, the boy straightened his spine, squared his shoulders, and with chin uplifted, eyes turned haughtily down, he said, “I accept.”

* * * * *

“What the hell was that all about?” Ginny asked Nigel later that night. They lay in bed together, wrapped up warm and close under the duvet.

“What?” Nigel wondered.

“What did Draco say to Abraxas?”

“I have no idea. Probably some Malfoy tosh.”

Ginny sniggered. “I wonder if Draco was like that as a little boy.”

“You mean with major mood swings?” Nigel asked.

“Maybe Abraxas gets the whininess from his mum.”

Nigel rolled his eyes and kissed Ginny. “Sad about them. I can’t say I’m shocked, though.”

“She used to fancy you, didn’t she?” Ginny asked. “I seem to remember that. Didn’t you date Pansy for a while?”

Nigel remembered perfectly well his brief fling with Pansy Parkinson during his one year as a full-time Hogwarts student. She missed Draco, he missed his muggle girlfriend, Lucy—sparks flew, things happened. Pansy had hounded him all first term, at times backing him into private corners and attempting to snog him at every turn. Second term he had given into her seductions—she treated him like a prince, which he remembered liking very much. Looking back on those days, Nigel wondered at himself and how he could have made such a choice. It would have been easy to chalk it all up to teenaged hormones, but Nigel wasn’t so sure. He remembered how pretty Pansy was, and he even remembered the sweetness of her wild kiss—Nigel couldn’t deny it, in spite of his deep love for Ginny.

Well, it was all over now, thankfully. He was settled, a father of three, a Healer, ready to start house-hunting outside of London—that was something he and Ginny swore to do after their youngest, Tom, was born a year ago. There was this little place in Stratford, not far from Ron and Hermoine’s house—it was the sort of place where someone could raise a family in peace. Flowers in the front garden, a hammock in the back garden, four bedrooms…it was just about perfect. The neighbourhood was strictly muggle, which concerned Nigel a bit, though by now, Ginny was used to living around muggles. OK, he had to admit it. The little house reminded Nigel of his boyhood home in St. Luke. It had been a happy place for him, with plenty of friends, good food, lots of places for a kid to play.

In the midst of these happy, homespun thoughts, Nigel occasionally thought a little wistfully at his days at Hogwarts, and not just because of Pansy, though Nigel had to admit that she was part of his thoughts. There was so much adventure in that year he stayed at Hogwarts, so many new friends and challenges—there were times when Nigel wondered if he would make it through the year, especially when he found himself at the centre of the final showdown with Lord Voldemort. But Nigel also remembered his very real doubts—should he remain in the wizarding world or return to life as a muggle? In the end, the harrowing events of that year made Nigel’s choice clear—he was needed in the wizarding world, more than anyone had ever imagined.

But he was now far away from adventure—no longer was he needed to unify Hogwarts or to deal with dark wizards or to uncover murderers. These days it was about childcare and home improvements and paying the bills and visiting the in-laws—that was the easy part. Nigel looked upon his father-in-law, Arthur Weasley, as a second, or perhaps third father. Life was sweet, and for the first time in many years, Nigel and Ginny could allow themselves to relax and enjoy their children and each other. But it felt a little strange sometimes—as a boy, growing up as a muggle, Nigel never expected to settle down to a life of easy domesticity quite so quickly. After all, he was only twenty-six. Had he continued his life as a muggle, Nigel would be in California right now, studying medicine at Stanford University, preparing to do take his boards and do his residency at some prestigious hospital in Los Angeles or San Francisco or even New York or Boston. His dream as a muggle was to be a cardiac surgeon or an oncologist, and perhaps a medical researcher from time to time, on some important committee for the Mayo Clinic or for Johns Hopkins or something.

And then he gave it all up.

He had to. As a wizard with unthinkably strong powers, Nigel had reluctantly agreed to set aside his muggle dreams and study magic full-time. Then, he agreed to enter the Ministry to battle an insurgency of dark wizards. And then he agreed to marry very young. His career as a Healer was somewhat of a compromise—it was the best the wizarding community could offer him by way of any sort of a medical career. His friends were compromises, too. Nigel had grown up with muggles, developed deep and meaningful muggle bonds, all of which he had to set aside to some degree when he became a wizard. His very best friends, Jimmy and Clive, grew more and more distant until by the time Nigel’s third child was born, he only got a card from Jimmy and a belated telephone message from Clive. He didn’t even have Clive’s current address.

At times, this loss confused Nigel. He found himself becoming angry at what he had lost, but then he would rebuke himself for being ungrateful or insensitive. After all, he had gained so much since he became a wizard, and more than just fame and power and a noble reputation. He had gained a beautiful wife, three great little boys, loads of friends and supporters—and a real identity. As a muggle, Nigel was just one of many, not so different from lots of muggles he knew. But as a wizard, Nigel was unique—he was the only person in wizard history who became a wizard. As such, Nigel had choices to make which no other witch or wizard faced. He had the power to choose his deepest identity, to own it entirely and thus, to take full responsibility for it.

But that didn’t stop Nigel from sometimes feeling like a stranger in his own skin, even now after so much time. His surroundings had become familiar, to be sure, and magic had become like second nature to him. He had learned the language of magic, mastering its often strange and even quaint vocabulary as if he were a native. But he wasn’t a native. Sometimes Nigel would look at the street vendors in London, men and women who came from North Africa or Egypt or Iran—they had adjusted to English life, learned the language, settled into English homes, watched English television, listened to English radio and ate English food. And yet, the echoes of their home culture rang strong within them, occupying their dreams and their private thoughts. It was no different for Nigel, who at times had to remind himself when to use wizard lingo and when to avoid it.

The only person Nigel knew who most closely understood this was Hermione, and even for her, it was different. After all, she had a five-year head start, whereas Nigel didn’t enter the wizarding world until he was sixteen. She had gone to school with other witches and wizards for years, formed strong bonds with them because she lived among them so intensely. Nigel only had a year of that. Sometimes he wished he’d had more, even if that meant leaving his muggle life five years early. There had been so much to learn back then, and in such a short amount of time. It was as though he had entered the magical community, on the one hand, as a sort of accidental wizard, but at the same time, precisely when his unique talents and gifts were needed.

Strange.

Late at night when he couldn’t sleep, his dreams plagued by flashes of the past—his terrifying accident that nearly took his life, the horrible death of his muggle girlfriend, the hideous face of a burned and pained Harry Potter—Nigel would walk the length and breadth of the flat, ultimately finding himself standing at the threshold of his sons’ room, looking on them as they slept. He found it fascinating that they would never know a normal…that is, a muggle childhood. It was at those times that Nigel wondered what sort of men his sons would become—clearly, the challenges they faced were entirely different from his own, and maybe that was okay.

He was such a worrywart.


	2. Reggie Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Daddy, who’s that?” he asked far too loudly._
> 
> _“Who?” Nigel asked, glancing about. He saw no one._
> 
> _George pouted. “There was a man, on the corner.”_
> 
> _“He’s probably someone who lives in the neighbourhood.”_
> 
> _“He’s new. He’s ugly.”_

“Baby, I’m just going for a paper!” Nigel called, throwing on his heavy winter coat. He wrapped a green plaid scarf around his neck and put a black wool cap on his head. George yanked on the hem of Nigel’s coat.

“Daddy, I want to go!” he crowed.

“Georgie, you’ve got to help Mummy with breakfast!” Nigel replied.

Ginny passed by, with little Tom in her arms. “Go on and take him, hon,” she said. “I’ll get his breakfast going. You got a meeting today with the committee, right?”

“Four-thirty.” Nigel kissed her on the lips, mussed Tom’s mop of bright red hair and took George by his gloved hand.

“OK, kiddo, here we go!”

There was nothing little George Chaucer loved better than to toddle off with his father to the corner newsstand for the morning newspaper. The Weasley-Chaucers had the _Daily Prophet_ delivered by owl post, but Nigel always liked to walk to the corner for the muggle news. He supposed it was because that was what his own father did, almost every day that Nigel could remember.

Once out in the brisk winter air, Nigel sat George on his shoulders, making the boy squeal with delight. George looked all around like a sentry as Nigel trudged to the corner. As Nigel paid for his newspaper, George pointed.

“Daddy, who’s that?” he asked far too loudly.

“Who?” Nigel asked, glancing about. He saw no one.

George pouted. “There was a man, on the corner.”

“He’s probably someone who lives in the neighbourhood.”

“He’s new. He’s ugly.”

Nigel suppressed a snigger as he made his way back to the warmth of the flat, George still atop his shoulders.

* * * * *

The day was long and incredibly busy for Nigel, so he was grateful that Ginny had planned to spend the day at home, writing her most recent column for _The Portal._ The magazine was rather notorious for taking a more than critical view of the goings-on at the Ministry of Magic, even going so far as to question some of the policies of the current Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shaklebolt. Ginny’s column, “The Sporting Life,” was a local favorite.

Nigel spent the better part of his day meeting with patients, checking potions, writing prescriptions, quelling various crises and patient meltdowns and other such daily nonsense.

He was beat.

But he still had a meeting to attend, with the Minister’s Council on Potions—normally, this exclusive think-tank would meet at St. Mungo's, or occasionally at the Three Broomsticks, but today was different. Kingsley Shaklebolt had arranged for a special visitor, all the way from America. No one on the committee, Nigel and Snape included, had any idea who would be speaking to them or why there was so much ceremony involved…that is, until he saw her enter the room. The tinkle of bangle bracelets caught Nigel’s attention, but when he saw the beautiful woman dressed to perfection in a sleek red dress, Nigel couldn’t help but laugh.

He stood up when she entered. “Jade!” he said, holding out his hand.

The special guest speaker, Jade, grinned widely, revealing the whitest, most perfect teeth Nigel had ever seen.

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed. “You look so great! You’re all grown up! How long has it been?”

“Oh gosh, I think it’s been eight or nine years, right? Gods, you look amazing, as always!”

“Oh you’re too kind, Nigel,” she tittered. “I heard you’re married now.”

“Ginny Weasley and I got married seven years ago. We’ve got three little boys, too.”

“That is so wonderful!” Jade exclaimed. “Are they as cute as you are?”

The rest of the room, Snape included, looked on in vaguely confused amusement. Snape’s derisive grunt was audible.

“Jade was a tutor of mine a few years ago,” Nigel explained to the rest of the committee. “Back during that whole Geoffrey Taylor thing. She taught me things about potions even you don’t know, Severus.”

“Which is precisely why I brought her here,” Shaklebolt replied, ushering Jade to the front of the long conference room.

The Council on Potions was one of the more obscure committees at the Ministry of Magic, and yet, one of the most important. It was comprised of Potions Masters of all ages, though Nigel was a good twenty years younger than the rest. Together, the committee discussed and proposed new and sometimes controversial uses for potions. They explored the varied uses of specific ingredients and herbs and other substances, and through Nigel’s urging, even reviewed muggle potions, to see what they could offer the wizarding world.

For Nigel, it was quite an honour to find himself on this prestigious committee. Sure, he was a Healer now, and a successful one at that, but there were times when he couldn’t help but feel more than overwhelmed by his surroundings. Most of the people he saw from day to day were so much older, so much more experienced than he—Nigel would rebuke himself for his insecurity, sometimes appalled at himself for his lack confidence. It was strange—it had been a long time since Nigel had been at the centre of any sort of controversy, and yet he couldn’t help but feel more than a little conspicuous, even now. Life had been smooth for many years—he had done his work, raised his boys, loved his wife, led a normal, common life.

Nigel was happy.

Still, he struggled to make sense of this vacillation between supreme power and authority and these occasional and crippling attacks of self-doubt. Wasn’t he supposed to be over his emotional sensitivity by now? Nigel supposed it had to do with his unusual and startling entrance into the wizarding world—he had gotten so much attention and fame and suspicion all at once, giving him precious little time to absorb it all. It seemed that only in the midst of one crisis or another that Nigel had a chance to expand his powers and abilities. All that was fine, but in the quieter moments, when life seemed to roll along, he found himself stopping in his tracks to wonder at who he was and what he was doing with his life.

He assumed it was natural, a sort of growing pains as it were, but no less troubling.

Shaklebolt tapped on his crystal glass with his wand, getting everyone’s attention. “Our very special guest, Ms. Jade Weintraub is going to speak to us about the uses of food as potions. Jade?”

“Thank you, Kingsley,” Jade replied. “Years ago when I was a girl at school in Maine, I had a revelation. One day as I was preparing a stew for the girls in my cottage, I accidentally put way too much basil in, so then I tried to correct it with some dill, and then some sage. All was well and good and the stew tasted alright. Right after dinner, one of the seventh graders started joking around and threw a hex at me—I didn’t try to stop it, but somehow, it was entirely deflected. I wondered at that, that perhaps the girl was just inexperienced and so her hex didn’t mean much. But then I thought about it, that it was the protective properties in the herbs I used in the stew that protected me. Since then, I have made it my own personal mission to take the art and science of potion making out of the cauldron and into the kitchen.”

An elderly witch scowled. “What is she talking about?” she grumbled under her breath. She craned her neck to hear better.

Another witch elbowed her. “Shh! She’s good. Trust me,” she hissed.

The talk was about integrating the use of medicinal herbs with modern haute cuisine. Snape grumbled the entire lecture, as Jade showed the committee about how simple uses of heat and cold, combined with careful timing, food combining and nuanced uses of cooking utensils, can bring about incredible magical effects. Nigel raised his hand.

“Jade, is there a possibility that muggles can use these techniques?” he asked.

Jade grinned. “Not at all. The utensil is almost like a substitute for a wand, in that it is a conduit of your own magical energies. This isn’t just about stirring things in new ways,” Jade pointed out, looking directly at a disgruntled Snape. “The difference between what I do and what is normally done in potion making is that I always use wandless, nonverbal spells that are coordinated with the properties of the ingredients and with the movement of the utensils. I also keep in mind the properties of the utensils, whether they be wood or different metals.”

“What about plastics?” Nigel asked. Snape grunted audibly.

“Never,” Jade replied firmly.

“Why not?” another wizard asked.

“The elements of plastics are too processed and synthesized,” Jade pointed out. “The magic will be far too inaccurate with plastics. I only use wood, iron, silver, glass, terra cotta, copper, gold, and occasionally aluminum, though it’s not the best material.”

Snape raised a hand. “Bronze?”

Jade nodded, grinning at him. “For baking, yes, though at relatively low temperatures. The chemistry changes when the heat is too much. And of course, pewter works, too, though it’s not the best.”

Snape noted that down on the very crowded parchment, a look of satisfaction on his lean face. Nigel noticed that his cousin didn’t stop writing for some time, as if he were on a good tangent about a new lesson learned.

After the lecture, Nigel took a few minutes to catch up with Jade whilst Snape remained in his chair, looking over his copious notes.

“Do you still have the restaurant?” Nigel asked.

“We sold it, but now we’ve got a new one, called Orange.”

“So do you put oranges in everything?”

Jade laughed. “I just liked the name. All our restaurants have had the name of a colour. Yellow, Blue, oh, that was a great place, Violet. The White Room was our first place. So how did you do with that Brazilian coven?”

“They took me to a whole new level,” Nigel confessed. “I conjured a needle that was so fine you could barely see it!”

“Those ladies really know what they’re doing,” Jade replied, impressed.

“So how long are you here in London?” Nigel asked.

“We’ve got a Senator coming to Orange tonight, so I’ll have to be getting back. You should come some time. Bring your wife. I’ll make her something special. Maybe an aphrodisiac or something.”

* * * * *

“I don’t think you and I need aphrodisiacs, Nigel,” Ginny said playfully that night as they lay in bed together. She nibbled on his ear.

“I think she was just joking, Gin.” He caressed her bare arms with his fingertips, making her shiver lightly. Her skin felt soft to the touch, so creamy and fragrant and luscious. Nigel pressed his lips to her shoulder, her neck, her throat while Ginny ran her fingers through his dark brown waves.

She laughed. “See? I told you we don’t need an aphrodisiac.” 

Ginny pulled him close, pressed her body against his as they moved in smooth undulations together, first slow and soft, but then wilder, harder, faster, deeper. Nigel took in her very essence, drank her passions, breathed in every breath she exhaled, channeling his own energy into her. Darkness turned to grey and purple and blue, and finally, as the dawn broke the night sky, the two of them fully sated and drained of all energy, Ginny and Nigel rested in each other’s arms, not wanting to be anywhere else than where they were in that very moment.

In the morning, Nigel let Ginny sleep in whilst he went out to buy his newspaper. He was keeping up with the muggle War on Terror and on the muggle economy. Most wizards didn’t keep up with muggle news, but Nigel knew that in many ways, the two worlds were interdependent and deeply intertwined. If anything went wrong with the muggle world, it could have serious reverberations in the wizarding world. Likewise, as many wizards and muggles learned in the not too distant past, any disruption or corruption in the wizarding world could have devastating effects on muggle society. Nigel paid for the paper and turned to go.

That was when he saw him. The man he supposed George saw yesterday, just standing there on the corner, staring.

He was rather small, thin with thick, bushy ginger hair and very heavy eyebrows. The man wore silver rimmed spectacles, not unlike Harry’s, and a plain, camel coloured trench coat. Nigel thought he looked like a private detective or a muggle policeman or a pervert. He was too inconspicuous, yet he stood there plain as day, staring in Nigel’s direction.

Nigel tucked his paper inside his winter coat and scurried back towards his flat, not looking back.

The next day the man was there again. Same corner, same coat, same stare. Nigel didn’t like this at all. He hoped the man was just minding his own business, but he couldn’t help but be a bit unnerved. The next day the man was still there, still staring, not saying a word. It was as if he were waiting for Nigel or something, expecting his arrival at the same time at the same place.

The next day, Nigel went in the opposite direction, towards a different newsstand on a different corner. There. That was better. No man on any street corner that day.

But as if by magic or espionage or something, the man appeared once again at this new corner, still staring at Nigel. Nigel was half tempted to confront the man once and for all, to discover exactly what he wanted and why he was seemingly following him..

“Daddy! I want to go!” George crowed.

A week had passed, with no end to what was starting to look like a stalking situation.

“No, Georgie,” Nigel replied. “You need to stay here with Mummy.”

“Go on and take him,” Ginny replied. She struggled to get Freddy into a thick, wool sweater.

“I don’t want that man seeing him,” Nigel told her sternly.

“What man?” Ginny asked curiously.

When Nigel told her about this mysterious man who seemed to be following Nigel, Ginny furrowed her brow. “What do you think he wants?”

Nigel pulled on his scarf and gloves. “I don’t know, but the last thing I want is for him to be anywhere near our boys.”

“You don’t think he’s one of those perverts, do you?”

“I hope to hell not.”

That morning, Nigel walked two extra blocks and around the corner to yet another newsstand. He looked around surreptitiously for any sign of the man. Thankfully, for the first time in a week, nothing. Nigel breathed a sigh of relief. It was just a fluke, a temporary thing. Nigel was tempted to disapparate, just to get home quicker, but he balked—too many muggles around. He took a deep breath and made his way back up the street and around the corner, back to the flat. And then…

He stood right in Nigel’s path, blocking the pavement altogether. Nigel started in alarm, but then grew cross.

“So who the hell are you?” he demanded.

The man broke into a wide, goofy smile and thrust out his hand. “Name’s Reggie. Reggie Pink. People call me The Shadow.”

“What do you want, Mr. Pink?”

“Well, Mr. Weasley-Chaucer, I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

Mr. Chaucer? What? Wait, how did he know he was now Weasley-Chaucer? This Pink fellow couldn’t be a wizard. There was no way. So how did he know who Nigel was? And then he remembered.

“Uh…how did you…” Nigel stammered.

“How did I know your name?” Pink replied jovially. “How could I forget you? You’re the bloke who vanished on live television! We still talk about that at the office, you know! I’ve seen that video so many times I think I’ve got it memorized!” He stared at Nigel with wide-eyed wonderment, like a schoolboy.

But what office? What sort of office was this that watched Nigel’s television appearance—and disappearance—over and over? “The office?” he asked.

“Oh! I work for the _Weekly Observatory_. We’re a rather tiny little journal, but we’ve got an avid readership!” Pink explained.

“Hang on,” Nigel said, now uneasy, “isn’t that one of those tabloids? Aliens in Parliament and all?”

“Exactly! But we didn’t do the aliens story. That was someone else. We do a lot on UFO’s and spiritual sightings and stuff like that. We did a long series on cloning extra-terrestrials and how the government is covering it up because they’re trying to create a master race.”

OK, a weirdo. Nigel stepped back. “Look, Mr. Pink…”

“Reggie.”

“Yeah, Reggie. Look, I’m not really able to answer your questions right now. Sorry.” And with that, Nigel walked off, quickly. He occasionally looked back over his shoulder to see if Pink was following him. So far, so good.

That is, until the next day. Feeling brave that morning, Nigel stepped out into the London cold and frost once again to buy his newspaper at his usual newsstand, hoping that this Pink fellow would leave well enough alone and go away.

No such luck. No sooner had Nigel reached the corner that Pink bounded over to him, as excited as a puppy. This time, he carried with him a notebook and a pencil, ready to take all sorts of notes. Nigel groaned with dread, swearing that he would refuse to speak a single word to the man. But…

“Hi, Nigel!” Pink said, his voice bright and snappy.

Nigel? No more _Mr. Weasley-Chaucer_? Nigel didn’t want to respond, but on the other hand, how could he not say a simple hello?

“Uh, yeah, uh, hi,” Nigel grumbled, turning away to head safely home. But again, Pink trailed behind, much closer than Nigel found comfortable.

“So you keep up with the news, do ya?” Pink asked excitedly.

“Uh, yeah.”

“What do you think about the War on Terror?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve got the _Times_. So what’s your opinion?”

“I don’t have one,” Nigel replied curtly, speeding up. He was desperate to just disapparate, but he restrained himself, having a feeling that Pink would report on it in his tabloid. He wondered if Pink had a hidden camera.

“Does the Ministry of Magic have any say in how the war is going?” Pink asked.

Nigel paused. “I…have no idea. You’re asking the wrong person. Look, Mr. Pink, I really have to get going. Good luck with your magazine.” With that, Nigel rushed off, getting as far away from Pink as he possibly could without actually breaking into a run.

“I don’t like this one bit,” Ginny said after Nigel told her what had just happened. “I mean, who is this guy? Who does he think he is?”

Nigel helped George put on his red socks. “I don’t know. He makes me nervous though. It’s like every time I turn around, he’s there.”

Ginny frowned. “He hasn’t followed you to St. Mungo’s, has he?”

Nigel dropped George’s trainer and stared with horror at Ginny. “Gods, I hope not! I don’t know, actually.”

“You should stop taking muggle transport and start apparating.”

Nigel knew she was right, of course, but on the other hand, he had grown accustomed to his half hour commute from the flat to work. He would walk three blocks to the nearest Tube station, and then walk three more blocks from the station to St. Mungo's. He could think about things, stretch his legs, get some exercise for a change. Over the years since he started this little routine, Nigel noticed a drastic change in his body. Not so long ago, he was in constant pain, residue from the accident that nearly took his life. But the more he moved and exercised and got on his feet, the better he felt. Having to apparate just to avoid an annoying reporter seemed unreasonable.

Nigel walked. He wasn’t going to let a small-time hack like Reggie Pink ruin his day or take him out of a routine that was helping him. Even the cold weather, which usually had a devastating effect on Nigel’s body, had lost most of its sting—how could he give that up just to keep out of Pink’s way?

And who was this Reggie Pink, anyway? Nigel wondered at why someone would take up such a job, writing about spaceships and little green men as if they were real. Why wasn’t Pink working for a more legitimate publication? Why not just keep a blog and do something else with his career? And why hound a wizard?

OK, so Nigel had to admit that for Pink, this whole wizarding thing must be pretty interesting. He’d give him that. Nigel had to admit that for a muggle, it must be almost unreal to be standing before someone who can disappear into thin air. He had become so accustomed to using and seeing magic every day that Nigel had forgotten what it must be like for muggles. It made him think a little about his parents—when Nigel first became a wizard, they had found all very hard to believe, that is, until they saw it for themselves. Nigel supposed that Pink was no different.

But enough. It was on to work for Nigel. Another day, more patients, more meetings with his supervisor, Healer Derek Penn. Same old safe routine, just like every other day.


	3. Divorce, Wizarding Style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Draco begins divorce proceedings against Pansy, an article in the newspaper makes Nigel wonder about how long his own marriage might last.

“What was Tom McDowell doing at Malfoy Manor?” Nigel asked Ginny that Friday night. “He was just arriving when I came to pick up Freddy and George to take them to your mum’s.”

It was the first night in a long while where the two of them were entirely alone—Mrs. Weasley had the boys for the weekend, leaving Nigel and Ginny to enjoy a little peace and quiet for a change.

“You know what’s going on with them, right?” Ginny replied. She uncorked a bottle of white wine and poured out two glasses.

Nigel frowned. “I hate to say this, but I knew this was going to happen.”

Ginny nodded. “I know. I think Draco did, too. He couldn’t expect someone like Pansy to be faithful to him forever, right?”

Nigel chuckled at that. “Actually, I figured the opposite, that he’d be the one cheating on her. You know how he is.”

“True. Not exactly shy around the ladies, our Draco.”

“He shouldn’t have gotten her up the duff like that,” Nigel noted.

“Yeah. Then again, it’s like he’s a totally different person now that he’s a father,” Ginny said. She sipped her wine. “He’s almost tolerable. And at least he stepped up.”

“True. Gotta give him marks for being a real man.”

Nigel had spent the last couple of days in relative peace, with no sign of Reggie Pink anywhere to be found. He had taken as many precautions as he could without resorting to magic—after all, he just wanted to be left alone. That said, Nigel’s spirits lifted with Pink out of sight.

“Maybe Malfoy is just weighing his options,” Nigel mused. He hated to see his friend have to endure an ugly divorce.

“Well if you think he’ll be permanently damaged by a messy divorce,” Ginny said, “then I think you underestimate him. Pansy’s the one who’ll get the royal shaft, not him. He is a Malfoy, after all, even if he is slightly nicer these days.” She paused. “The one I’m really worried about is Harry.”

“I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“You’ve been working a lot. I saw him the other day in Diagon Alley, just coming out of Knockturn Alley.”

Nigel made a face. “What the hell was he doing in that place?”

Ginny shrugged. “He looked so down. I wondered if he even knew where he was going.”

“Geez, Ginny, that’s awful! Maybe I should seek him out, you know, talk to him.”

“I think that’s sweet,” she replied. “But whatever you do, keep him away from that Pink fellow.”

“Well so far so good. But what could be getting Harry down these days?” Nigel wondered. “I thought was happy as an Auror.”

“It’s a tough job,” Ginny noted. “Imagine having to deal with dark wizards every day.”

“I’ll take him out for a beer or a whiskey or something,” Nigel resolved.

But that would have to wait.

Saturday morning brought new troubles, even dangerous. No sooner had Nigel stepped outside on the snowy street that he was approached once again by Reggie Pink. To Nigel’s great consternation, Reggie was standing right at the entrance to Nigel’s building.

“Hey, Nigel,” he exclaimed. “Long time, no see!”

Nigel rolled his eyes and headed for the newsstand, fighting the urge to do the Levicorpus spell on Pink and levitate him into the Thames. Pink followed Nigel closely, all the way to the corner newsstand, and when Nigel turned to go home, Pink followed him again.

That was it. Enough!

“What exactly do you want, Pink?” Nigel demanded impatiently. “I’m getting the feeling you’re stalking me or something.”

“Oh no! Nothing like that!” Pink replied, almost apologetically. “No, it’s just that ever since I saw you disappear like that, I’ve been researching witchcraft quite a lot.”

Nigel stopped in his tracks and faced Pink directly. “It’s likely that what you’ve read is all about Wicca or Santeria or something.”

“I read about some African forms of witchcraft as well,” Pink replied enthusiastically. “Fascinating!”

“Look, Mr. Pink…”

“Reggie.”

“Yeah, Reggie. That’s not the sort of thing I’m involved with at all, I mean…”

“But I’ve read all about telekinesis and astral projection and…”

“That may all be fine, but I’m telling you, that’s not what I do.”

Pink furrowed his brow. “But you vanished into thin air, I mean, that wasn’t astral projection?”

“I have no idea what astral projection is,” Nigel confessed. “I think the sort of magic you’re looking for isn’t the sort that I know anything about, to be honest. I hate to disappoint you, but that’s about it.”

Pink thought a moment. “So what magic do you do?”

Nigel shook his head. “It’s hard to explain. I understand it, but not on a level where I can put it into words. It’s just something deep within me. That’s the best explanation I can give you.”

Pink wrote a few things in his notebook. He bit his lip. “I have a serious question for you, Nigel,” he said. “I’ve heard it said that witches are immortal.”

“What?”

“Is that true? Are you immortal?”

Nigel thought of Dumbledore, Glenda Babb, Alice Longbottom, even of Lord Voldemort. “That’s just mythology, Reggie, not reality.”

When Nigel told Ginny, Harry and Draco about their conversation later that evening at the Leaky Cauldron, everyone burst into raucous laughter. Draco laughed so hard he nearly tipped over his mug of ale. Harry caught it for him, with a quick flick of his wand.

“Where do these muggles get that stuff?” Draco crowed. “Immortal! I wish!”

“Would be nice, yeah?” Nigel said, smirking.

“Think of the trouble we could have been saved!” Ginny exclaimed.

Harry looked away, a bit disengaged from the scene. “I quit my job today,” he said quietly.

Silence. Stunned silence.

“What?” Ginny breathed, stunned. “Oh Harry! Why?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Nigel replied, aghast. “You quit a perfectly good job for no reason?”

“I had a reason, Nigel,” Harry retorted. “I just can’t quite articulate it. Sorry if you find that offensive.”

“I’m not offended,” Nigel said. “But my gods, Harry! What are you going to do?”

“Do Ron and Hermione know about this?” Ginny asked.

“You guys are the first I’ve told,” Harry confessed. “I…haven’t had a chance to tell Ron or Hermione.”

“I just can’t understand this, Harry!” Ginny grumbled.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Come on, Ginny, you sound like Hermione! Why do you think I haven’t told her yet?”

She glared at him. “You tell me!”

Harry sighed. “I just need a break,” he finally said. “All I’ve done since I left school is work and fight and work more. I’m just tired.” He paused. “I’m okay, guys, alright? I’ve got plenty of money and a roof over my head. I just need some time to myself.”

“But don’t you have a plan?” Nigel persisted.

“Not really,” Harry replied. “All I know is that I just need to take a breath. I feel like I’ve lived about ten lives! I haven’t even had a serious date in ages! Can you believe it?”

Ginny blushed a little. Draco scowled.

“You can’t just loaf about, Potter,” Draco said. “Trust me, it’s no good. You’ll just get into trouble.”

“Actually, I thought about traveling a bit,” Harry said. “Visit new places, meet different people for a change. No offence.”

Nigel knew how Harry felt. It hadn’t been so long ago that he had faced a similar crisis of identity. Since his entry into the wizarding world, Nigel’s life had consisted mainly of battling extreme crises, making critical decisions regarding life and death, and trying to figure out just who the heck he was. But unlike Harry, Nigel had opportunities for self-reflection. He had the chance to become fairly centered, especially now that he was a father of three very active little boys. Nigel hardly knew what to say. How could he deny Harry the same chance he himself had taken?

Even the following day, as he made his way to the corner for his morning paper, Nigel couldn’t keep his mind off of Harry’s drastic pronouncement. Harry looked so tired, so…old. As much as Nigel wanted to understand his friend’s plight, he still couldn’t help but feel that Harry was throwing away his career, and for what? Some sort of delayed angst? It was so hard to say, and the last thing Nigel wanted was to be a judge.

But his thoughts about Harry were quickly interrupted. Pink…again! Hadn’t he shaken the reporter for good? Nigel groaned in exasperation, but didn’t stop to chat. He conducted his business, stuffed the newspaper inside his coat and headed home. Again, Pink followed close behind.

“Hey Nigel!”

Nigel didn’t stop. “I’ve got a busy day today, Reggie. No time to chat today.”

“Tomorrow?”

“I’m busy tomorrow, too. I’m busy for the next several weeks.” Nigel could feel the biting cold air stiffen his knees and hips. His body ached, but that didn’t slow Nigel down in the slightest. He couldn’t help but feel somewhat like a cinema star running away from the paparazzi.

To Nigel’s annoyance, Pink kept up with Nigel’s stride. More than ever, Nigel wanted to turn around and use magic on Pink, maybe turn him into a dust mite or something, but he kept in mind the laws that Nigel himself had put into place regarding using magic on muggles. He grumbled and continued towards his building.

“It’s just that I thought about our last conversation, about magic,” Pink replied, huffing and puffing in his pursuit of Nigel, who walked increasingly fast on the icy pavement. At one point, Pink nearly lost his footing on the slick ice, but he managed to stay upright.

Nigel wasn’t so fortunate. He moved a little to the left, heading to the entrance of his building, and just like that, BAM! Nigel’s foot hit a slick of ice and he lurched forward, landing flat on his chest on the pavement. Pink rushed forward to pick him up.

“Oh my gosh! Nigel! Are you alright?” He pulled a shaken and embarrassed Nigel to his feet and helped dust off the snow from his long coat.

The fall was more painful than Nigel was ready to admit. He broke the fall with his hands, sending shockwaves of sharp pain up his arms and into his shoulders, especially his right shoulder. Because he landed on his chest, Nigel felt somewhat winded—a dull ache grew in his stomach, as if someone had punched him in the gut. It took him a minute to shake it off.

“Thanks, Reggie,” he finally said, blushing hotly.

“You gotta watch it on that ice, especially now, with the weather getting a little warmer and all the snow melting. Makes it dangerous!” Pink said authoritatively. “You shoulda used magic!”

Nigel knew very well that would have been a bad idea—it would have been reckless to do magic in front of any muggle, but in front of Reggie Pink? It would have been downright criminal! Nigel picked up his shattered pride and stretched out his hand in gratitude to Pink.

“Thanks for picking my arse up off the floor, Reggie,” Nigel said, shaking Pink’s hand.

“Can I just ask you one more question?” Pink asked. Nigel rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Now look, I know I’m a real bother and all, but I need to know just one thing. Where does magic come from?”

Nigel hardly knew what to say. Surely it was an accident of birth, but he sensed that wasn’t what Pink wanted to hear. “I don’t really know, to be honest. You’re either born with it or you’re not. That’s about it.”

Pink jotted down a few things in his notebook. “So you were born a wizard? You always had magic?”

Nigel bit his lip. “Well no, I mean…no. I didn’t. But my situation is unique. I…”

“So you acquired your powers? From other wizards?”

“S…sort of,” Nigel replied tentatively. “It wasn’t anything on purpose or anything. It was just an accident. Literally.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Frankly, I don’t, either. So far as anyone knows, I’m the only person who ever became a wizard. It happened after a blood transfusion, but no one knows why or how.”

Pink pondered. “Something in the chemistry of wizard blood is probably different from human blood.”

Nigel frowned. “Wait a second, Reggie! Witches and wizards are human! We’re not some separate sort of being!”

“So what would happen if you got another blood transfusion, from another wizard?” Pink asked.

“We don’t really do that, actually. We have other ways of restoring blood loss.”

“But what if you did? Would you acquire their powers, too?”

Nigel frowned again. “I didn’t acquire anyone’s powers, Reggie. The wizards’ blood that was used for me had no bearing on their own abilities. They’re just as powerful as ever.”

“But there’s a special bond, right? A blood bond?”

Nigel shrugged. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it. You could also call it immense gratitude, and not because of magic. Those wizards helped to save my life.”

“But don’t you think that the infusion of magical blood into your body healed you?”

“There were so many things that contributed to my recovery, Reggie. Blood transfusions, good doctors, lots of people praying for me.”

Pink raised his eyebrows excitedly. “Like a coven? Did magical people pray for you? Did they cast a circle for your healing and call forth the elements?”

“I…hardly think so,” Nigel replied, flabbergasted. “My friends and family are C of E. I doubt they’ll be casting any circles any time soon.” Nigel sighed. “Look, Reggie, I really have to get going. Thanks for helping me this morning.”

“OK, Nigel. Just watch yourself on the pavement!”

“Will do.”

* * * * *

“He’s driving me crazy!” Nigel spat. “It’s his damn fault I fell like that!”

“That’s right, baby, blame Pink for your own clumsiness.” She sniggered.

“He made me rush! I was distracted!” Nigel replied defencively.

Ginny pressed her wand against Nigel’s painful shoulder and uttered a quiet incantation. He winced as a sharp pain sliced through his entire arm. A warm glow emanated from the tip of her wand, first making Nigel’s skin turn bright red, but then letting it return to its usual, rather pale hue. Nigel sighed as the pain subsided.

“You’re really good at that, Gin,” he said, giving her a kiss on the back of her hand. “Maybe you should be a Healer, too.”

“Not a chance!” she replied firmly. “Living with six older brothers, I helped Mum patch up a lot of bruises. Ron fell off a roof once. It took me, Mum and George to put him right.”

Nigel laughed. “Well you’re in perfect shape for our boys.”

Ginny nodded, noting with new concern that Freddy was currently trying to put George into a headlock, just a little too close to the sharp end of the television stand. She rushed over to pull them apart.

“Freddy!” she scolded. “What did I tell you about doing that?”

Freddy hung his head and pouted. “Sorry, Mummy.” He hiccupped. Just then, to Ginny’s alarm, little blue sparks flew out of Freddy’s ears.

“Uh…Nigel?” Ginny called.

Freddy hiccupped again. More sparks, again out of his ears.

Nigel busied himself in the bathroom, shaving and checking over his newly healed shoulder and ribs—he couldn’t help but admire Ginny’s work. George tottered over to the bathroom to watch.

“Daddy, Freddy’s sparking again!” George said, tugging on the hem of Nigel’s green bathrobe.

Sparking? That didn’t sound quite right. He was sure it was all in George’s head, or that he was trying to get Freddy in trouble.

“Nigel!” Ginny called again.

“What?” Nigel set down his razor and splashed cool water on his face. That felt good, the first refreshing moment of the morning. He tried his face on the towel and headed out of the bathroom, with George plastered to his side. He frowned. “What’s going on?”

Freddy didn’t look at all well. His little face had become a bit bloated and too pink, and his hair stood on end. Ginny’s troubled expression made it all worse.

“Is he OK?” Nigel asked, kneeling down in front of Freddy. He ran his fingers through his son’s hair and looked carefully into his sad eyes. “Hey, Freddy, what’s going on? You OK?”

Freddy pouted again and shook his head no.

“Where does it hurt?” Nigel asked.

Freddy pointed to his forehead.

“Headache?”

And then, Freddy hiccupped again, sending new sparks out of his ears.

“He’s sparking,” Nigel noted. He crinkled his brow. This was beyond strange.

“I know,” Ginny said. “That’s why I was calling you. What does it mean?”

“I’ve never seen sparking before,” Nigel confessed. “I’ll take him with me to work and have Jude take a look at him.”

“Daddy!” George called. “I want to go!”

“You and Tom are visiting Abraxas and Paige today, sweetie,” Ginny told him. “You like it at Malfoy Manor, right?”

“Can we ride the hippogryff?” George asked.

“When you’re older, baby,” Nigel said. “You need to be a little bigger for that.” He turned back to Freddy, whose face was pinker than before. “Guess what, Buddy? You’re coming to work with Daddy today!”

George cried in protest.

* * * * *

“He’s sparking,” said Jude Rosen.

Freddy sat on the examination table, shoes off, toes wiggling inside his blue socks. He hiccupped again, and once again, little sparks shot out of his ears. His face was rounder than before, his eyes glum and sad.

“I know he’s sparking,” Nigel replied. “I’ve never seen this before.”

Rosen pondered. “The only time I’ve ever seen anyone spark like that was because of a hex. Do you think anyone hexed him? Maybe as a joke? What about that little Malfoy boy, Abraxas?”

“I doubt Abraxas would know how to do that, Jude. He’s only four!”

Rosen raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And his father is Draco Malfoy.”

Nigel knew what he meant. “But Abraxas doesn’t have a wand.”

“True,” Rosen conceded.

“So what do you think? We’ve both looked him over, and he’s healthy. He said he doesn’t feel sick, other than this headache from the sparking.”

“Hmm…makes me wonder,” Rosen said thoughtfully.

“What?” Nigel asked, more than a bit troubled over what could be wrong with his son.

“I remember that Freddy’s birth was difficult.”

Nigel hated that memory. “Yeah, I remember, too.”

“The other boys, though, they were fine, right? Their births, I mean.”

“Yeah. Freddy was about a week late, but George and Tom were mostly on time. George was two weeks early, in fact.”

“Two and a half,” Rosen reminded him. “I wonder, though, if Freddy’s problem isn’t so much a problem as…a product of…well, of being your son.”

“What do you mean? I was born a muggle! Is that part of it?”

“Actually, Nigel, I was thinking about your current condition. You are, as we all know, probably the most powerful wizard of our day. Furthermore, your wife is from a pureblooded family, and a right powerful one at that.”

“So what do you mean?” Nigel had an inkling of what Rosen was getting at, but he wasn’t so sure.

“I just mean that maybe your son is a bit overloaded, magic-wise, that is.”

“An overload? You mean he’s got so much magic churning in him that his head is exploding?”

“Maybe,” Rosen replied gravely.

Nigel threw him a skeptical look. “Look, Jude, I don’t know about that. I’ve never heard of an overload of magic before. If that were the case, my head should have snapped ages ago!”

“Just a thought,” Rosen said. “You might want to give him a little lesson in something, maybe some simple charm. Maybe Wingardium Leviosa? That’s basic enough.”

“Freddy is four. He doesn’t have a wand yet. He won’t have one for seven more years.”

“Well maybe he’ll be like you and not need a wand.”

“I don’t know, Jude. We’ve got a lot of breakables around the flat. He could smash the place to smithereens if we start teaching him spells.”

“All I’m saying is that maybe the little guy needs a bit of relief. Let him get some of that raging magic out of his system, and he’ll stop sparking. Give it a try.”

* * * * *

_**The Wonders of the Magical World!**  
by Reginald C. Pink, O.D.W.W._

_Never in my life have I met anyone quite like Nigel Weasley-Chaucer. You remember him, dear Reader, don’t you? He was the young man who vanished on live telly almost 10 years ago! Some people thought he was a performer, but he’s not! Nigel Weasley-Chaucer is real, and so is his magic!_

_I had a rare opportunity to have a several private audiences with the great wizard, and let me tell you what I’ve learned! First of all, forget about his age. He looks very young, and I think he’s about 26 or 27 or so. But don’t let that fool you or make you think less of him. He is kindness itself, and is a walking tower of wisdom, even if he is sort of clumsy._

_Nigel and I discussed many important philosophies regarding magic and witchcraft, and I was truly enlightened by his detailed and excellent answers. For example, when I asked him whether witches and wizards are immortal, he affirmed the truths that we find in mythology, many of which posit that those with magical abilities are in fact immortal. Nigel also confirmed what I always believed about how you get magical powers, that you can be born without magic and get it through magic blood—from the blood of a witch or wizard. Though Nigel was a bit sketchy about the details, he didn’t deny my theory._

_I suspect that it is a jealously guarded secret within the magical world, and it is one which I want to explore on a much deeper level. After all, if a normal human being like Nigel Weasley-Chaucer can get amazing powers, who is to say that someone else can’t? Certainly, this blood-bond amongst wizards and witches is serious business, but who’s to say that outsiders can’t become a part of that? But, dear readers, as we delve more further into this fascinating and exciting quest for new life and new abilities, we must consider the drastic consequences of departing from our human nature and taking on a new magical identity._

_But really, if Nigel Weasley-Chaucer can, so can you!_

Nigel’s hands shook violently as he read the rest of Pink’s article. His face drained of all colour.

“Oh my gods,” he breathed, practically hyperventilating. “Ginny is going to KILL me!”


	4. The Trouble with George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nigel sat next to her on the bed now, and put his arms around her. “What’s going on, Ginny?” he asked. He smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead, relieved that at least for now they weren’t having an argument._
> 
> _Ginny looked at him with tragic eyes. Nigel gulped. He didn’t like that look one bit, though he decided to refrain from using Legilimency at that moment. He wanted to hear whatever Ginny had to say._
> 
> _“We need to talk about…George,” she said._
> 
> _“Which George? Our George or your George?”_
> 
> _“Ours. Our son.”_

He knew it was coming. It was just a matter of time. She would see it, including all those pictures — how did Pink photograph the boys? — and then, she’d really kill him. There was just enough of Molly Weasley’s fiery temperament in Ginny to make her just a little scary at times. Especially at times like this.

Ginny did not disappoint.

She stormed into Nigel’s office at St. Mungo’s, right in the middle of the business day, the copy of the _Weekly Observatory_ clutched in her tight, white-knuckled fist.

“What the hell is this, Nigel?” she bellowed, so loudly that others near Nigel’s office craned their necks to see what the big fuss was all about.

Nigel jumped up from his chair, moving around the desk to rip the magazine from her hand. She flinched violently away from him.

“You can say all you want to that muggle IDIOT, but when you get our SONS involved!” she shouted, shaking the magazine in his face.

“I don’t know how the hell he got those pictures, Ginny!” Nigel shouted back. “I have no bloody idea!”

“Please! You couldn’t tell when someone’s taking your picture?”

“I’m telling you, Ginny, the guy was following me all over! He even followed me to church services one day! I have no idea when or where he took those pictures! Muggle technology is pretty advanced! These tabloid asses have their ways.”

“Well what exactly did you tell him?” she demanded. “I mean, why not just take him over to the Ministry of Magic and show him around?”

“That is not fair, and you know it!” Nigel shot back. “I barely said anything to him! He took what I said and twisted my words around! Sometimes he just outright lied, like that whole thing about immortality! It’s not my fault!”

“It is your fault, Nigel! You should never have talked to him!”

Jude Rosen stormed into Nigel’s office, outraged.

“What is going on in here?” he hissed. “We can hear you all the way down the corridor! Even the patients can hear you!”

Nigel blushed. “Sorry, Jude.”

Ginny slammed the magazine on his desk. “Have him take a look at THAT, Nigel! He’ll be yelling at you, too!” And with that, she turned on her heel and stomped out of the office.

Nigel kneaded his brow and groaned.

Rosen picked up the magazine and thumbed through it, resting his astonished eyes on the picture of Nigel with George and Freddy, taken outside St. Paul’s Cathedral. A very giddy George rode atop his father’s shoulders, and Nigel held Freddy’s hand as they all walked carefully down the church steps. George looked like he was singing. Nigel couldn’t help but feel horrible. What had he exposed his children to? Would other people look at those pictures and mess with them? Discriminate against them? Nigel hadn’t thought beyond Reggie Pink. He hadn’t considered the audience.

How would he face Ginny when he got home? Would she even be there, or would she take the boys off somewhere, away from prying muggle eyes? OK, that was a bit extreme. Then again, Ginny was extraordinarily protective of her sons, and with Freddy sparking and with George not showing a scrap of magic and with Tom being…just a baby…Ginny had every reason to act the Mother Bear.

In the early evening, Nigel wrapped up his rounds and his business for the day, then headed over to the residence where Frank Longbottom now stayed. Out of the Incurables ward for some time now, Frank lived in an assisted living facility that Nigel, Rosen and three other Healers set up, with backing from Minister Shaklebolt and from Chief Secretary Arthur Weasley. 

The residence housed ten patients, all former Incurables, all helped in some way by Nigel’s innovative treatments, which normally included a potion, psychotherapy and most importantly, a humane approach to their care. Nigel visited the residence once a week to check on the patients, to talk to them and keep up with their progress. Some, like Frank, would likely be there for the rest of their lives. On the other hand, they were comfortable, conscious, loved and cared for by a team of nurses and two other Healers Nigel brought in with him. One of those Healers was his good friend, Hugh Smedley. The other was an acquaintance from Hogwarts—Marcus Belby. Belby was particularly talented with the patients, who liked his soft-spoken and tender personality. Nigel felt extremely confident leaving them in Belby’s gentle hands.

Frank looked a bit glum that evening.

“He still misses Alice,” Belby told Nigel.

“It’s been three years,” Nigel noted. “I guess he must have so many unanswered questions, so much anger still. Can’t say I blame him.”

Belby shook his head. “I guess not. But he got to attend her funeral service. That was good.”

“I suppose so,” Nigel replied. “But I bet he wishes he could have had twenty years of consciousness and sanity with her.”

Belby put a hand on Nigel’s shoulder. “No sense dwelling on the past, though.”

“Not for you and me.”

“Nor for him.”

His visit to the residence over, Nigel stepped outside to head home. At first, he contemplated taking his usual route on foot to the Tube Station. But no. Not tonight. As much as he wanted to delay yet another argument with Ginny, Nigel knew that it was better to get it over with. He’d just have to suck it up, as it were, and steel himself for a fight. Nigel sighed.

“I don’t want a fight,” he told himself aloud. “Damn! I hate this!”

With a tenuous resolve, Nigel glanced around to be sure no muggles were about, and with a little pop, he disapparated.

* * * * *

He didn’t expect to find Ginny sitting on their bed, crying. A wave of guilt flooded his heart, and Nigel sat on the corner of the bed, fiddling with the belt of his purple robes. Ginny didn’t look up.

“Where are the boys?” he asked quietly.

“With Malfoy,” Ginny sniffled.

Nigel smirked. “He’s turning into bloody daddy day care,” he mumbled under his breath. “Ginny, talk to me. I’m sorry I upset you with that article. I really am. The situation is out of my control, though. You’ve got to understand.”

“I keep thinking of Geoffrey Taylor,” Ginny confessed. “Remember him?”

How could Nigel forget? Taylor was a dark wizard who wanted to bring the magical world into the open but then exploit his powers to control muggle society. Nigel had taken great pleasure in bring Taylor and his cronies to justice.

“What about him?” Nigel wondered.

Ginny blew her nose and dried her eyes. “I just keep thinking that this is so stupid! Why do we have to keep our world in hiding?”

Nigel frowned. “You know why, Ginny. And plus, it’s not so much in hiding any more. Not after that thing I did on telly. Pink won’t let me forget it!”

“You had to do magic! You had to show that wizards aren’t evil! I…I just keep thinking that if we didn’t have to keep everything so secret, then it wouldn’t matter if you talked to Reggie Pink or anyone else. You and I could do magic out in the open, regardless of who’s around, and not for any evil purposes! Maybe Taylor had a sort of point, in a general way, I mean.”

Nigel frowned again—since when did Ginny agree with dark wizards about anything? He sat next to her on the bed now, and put his arms around her. “What’s going on, Ginny?” he asked. He smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead, relieved that at least for now they weren’t having an argument.

Ginny looked at him with tragic eyes. Nigel gulped. He didn’t like that look one bit, though he decided to refrain from using Legilimency at that moment. He wanted to hear whatever Ginny had to say.

“We need to talk about…George,” she said.

“Which George? Our George or your George?”

“Ours. Our son.”

“Look, Ginny, I know he’s pretty clingy right now, but…”

“It’s not that. I think it’s lovely that he is so enamoured of you. But Nigel, I think he’s…I think he’s a…Squib.”

OK, so they weren’t going to argue about Reggie Pink. That gave Nigel further relief.

“Is that bad, being a Squib?” he asked.

“No, not bad. But it raises some serious questions for us. For him, too.”

Nigel shrugged. “But George can go to muggle school. He’s perfectly intelligent. So what if he can’t do magic?”

Ginny shook her head. “Don’t you get it, Nigel? He can’t go to muggle school! When the teacher asks them to tell the class what their parents do, George will sound like a nutter!”

“We can tell him I’m a doctor and you’re a writer.”

“And if he talks about potions and spells and conjuring, then what? Those muggles will think he lives in a cult!”

“Well then we’ll have to tell him to keep his mouth shut.”

Ginny laughed bitterly. “He’s a child, a little boy! He can’t just keep his mouth shut! You know how children are! Nigel, we do magic every single day in this flat. All of our friends are witches and wizards—well, most of them are. George lives entirely in the magical world. He doesn’t know the muggle world at all.”

“He’s three! He can learn! If I can learn a new world at sixteen, George can certainly learn at his age.” But then, Nigel had a thought. “You know, Ginny, it could be that George is just a late bloomer. I mean, I know you and I have pretty strong powers and all. But that doesn’t mean that George is a Squib because he’s not showing any ability yet.”

“I know,” Ginny conceded. “I’m sorry about earlier, by the way, in your office. I sort of lost it.”

“So St. Mungo's noticed,” Nigel said, smirking.

Ginny grimaced. “Did I get you in trouble?”

“No. It’s fine. Really. We’re used to weirdos coming in at all hours.”

Ginny laughed and socked him in the arm. She kissed his lips. “Why do we have to hide like this?”

“You saw the article,” Nigel replied. “Muggles have no idea what magic is. They think it’s like what they see on _Charmed_ or something, like we’re some sort of cosmic demon-slayers or miracle workers or something. I mean, I remember when Lucy nearly outed me at that party? The neighbours thought I was in some sort of voodoo cult. One bloke even pulled a gun on me!”

Together, Nigel and Ginny went to the kitchen to make a little supper for themselves—actually, Nigel telephoned a deli and ordered some take-away.

“Do you believe in miracles, Nigel?” Ginny asked. She poured out some red wine whilst they waited for the delivery.

“Absolutely,” Nigel said, rifling through his wallet for some muggle money. “I’m a walking miracle.”

“Well in bed you are.”

Nigel blushed hotly. “No! I mean after my accident! You know, in spite of everything that was done for me, there really is no way I should have survived that. You have no idea how fucked up I was. I should have bled to death right there at the scene, lying in the street like that. My body was crushed!”

Ginny shuddered. “But don’t you think that Fred and George’s blood gave you an extra something?”

“That happened a few days later, after one of my surgeries. But the very day of the accident…that was the day the miracle happened, only I didn’t know it until after Tom was born. Tony told me. This Irish lady who lives next door to Tony’s family heard about what happened, that I was nearly dead. She came to the hospital with Tony’s mum because Tony was freaking out and was nearly mad with grief…”

“Poor Tony,” Ginny said.

“Anyway, this lady, a Mrs. O’Suillebhan, took Tony by the hand and had him kneel down with her outside the emergency room where they were working on me, and together, they joined hands and prayed. She even had these prayer beads with her, and she just shut her eyes and sort of dissolved into this deep almost trance. Tony said he felt pulled into it, too, and he said that he suddenly felt a sort of peace, like everything was going to be fine. And it was.”

“You never told me that story before,” Ginny said, drying her eyes.

“It took me a while to believe it, to be honest,” Nigel said, drying his own eyes.

She smiled. “You were always the religious type.”

“Yeah, but most religious types don’t experience miracles.”

“I suppose everyone wants to, though,” Ginny pondered.

“Which is why…”

She scowled. “…we need to keep our world to ourselves. But what about George? What will we do, if he is a Squib? He can’t go to Hogwarts.”

“Maybe he can. He won’t be able to do the practicum stuff, but he can learn theory.”

“But if he can’t do spells or charms, then what? And when he watches his brothers doing all that and he can’t, that’ll make him feel terrible!”

The doorbell rang.

* * * * *

The next morning, a bright and sunny Saturday, Nigel and Ginny apparated to Malfoy Manor to pick up the boys. The entrance hall of the grand mansion, once so elegantly designed had been transformed—in a way. A tricycle rested on its side at the foot of the winding staircase, and next to it was a skateboard also on its side. A pile of building blocks in blue and green and pink and yellow were left in a pile by the door that led to the Morning Room. A bowl of half-eaten chocolate pudding had been placed precariously atop one of the blocks. The House Elf who answered the door looked a bit harried.

“Come in, sir, madame,” she said, bowing low and stepping back to admit Nigel and Ginny.

“Is Mr. Malfoy at home?” Nigel asked.

“Oh yes, sir. He’s in the solarium, having breakfast.”

“And the children?” Nigel asked.

“Greta’s got them in the dining room, giving them breakfast.”

“Greta?” Nigel asked.

“The nanny,” Ginny replied. “Draco hired her last month to take care of his two. She’s great.”

“You mean Greta Abbot? Hannah’s sister?”

“That’s she. She’s great with kids. In fact, she and Padma Patil are talking business these days. Supposed to be some big announcement in April.”

Nigel wondered what that was. Maybe it would be something that could benefit George. He hoped. Either way, they left the kids in Greta’s capable hands and went out to find Draco. He was just finishing his morning tea and lighting up a cigarette when they sat down at the table with him. The House Elf brought them tea and a plate of fresh scones and apricot jam.

“How were they last night?” Ginny asked, buttering her scone.

“Fine. Only four holes in the wall,” Draco replied coolly. “George kept asking for you, Nige. Gave Greta a hell of a time.”

“Did Freddy and Abraxas do wrestlemania?” Nigel asked. Ginny threw him a warning look.

“I finally had to stop them, actually,” Draco said. “They knocked over a really expensive vase, so I had to put my foot down.”

Ginny frowned. “Did you fix it?”

“Greta did.”

Ginny smiled. “How old is Greta?”

“Nineteen, I think. Why?” Draco furrowed his brow.

“I just was wondering.”

“I already shagged her, if you must know,” he said. “We do it fairly regularly, as a matter of fact.”

Nigel nearly spit out his tea. “Geez, Malfoy! Thanks for sharing that!”

“Does Pansy know?” Ginny asked.

Draco snarled. “What does that matter? Did the cow wonder whether I knew how many blokes she shagged on a regular basis?” He leaned forward and whispered. “I’ll tell you this. I don’t think Paige is mine, not biologically.”

Ginny gasped. “How do you know? Can you be sure?”

“First of all, she looks nothing like me. Plus, she looks a bit Mediterranean.”

“But Pansy’s got dark hair,” Nigel noted.

“But she doesn’t have olive skin, does she?” Draco shot back. “I mean, I don’t really care who the sperm donor was. Paige is mine either way. I’m her father. I’m the one who raised her while her mother spent the year of Paige’s life traipsing about Europe like a common muggle whore.”

“So if Pansy wants custody of Paige?” Nigel asked.

“Fuck her. She can’t have her. And I’ll see to it she doesn’t mess her up, too.”

Nigel bit his lip. “Somehow, Draco, I fully believe you.”

“You know what’s really sad, though?” Draco continued. “I doubt whether Pansy will even fight for them. Can you imagine? My mother would be horrified.”

“So you have Tom McDowell on it then?” Nigel asked.

“He’s a real manticore in court, I tell you. Fucking brutal! So far he’s managed to keep Pansy from getting a single twig of Malfoy Manor. All I did was give her a lump settlement. A million Galleons, and she’s out of our lives forever.”

“What if Abraxas and Paige want to know her?” Ginny asked.

“They never knew her anyway,” Draco shot back angrily. “She was never around.”

“But you don’t bad-mouth her to your kids, do you?” Ginny wondered.

“I don’t talk about her at all, in fact,” Draco replied.

“Shouldn’t you?” Ginny asked.

Draco rounded on her. “And tell them what? Your mother loves you so much that she doesn’t want a damn thing to do with you? It’s bad enough they’ve grown up without a mother, but to keep reminding them? I won’t do that to them!” He sighed and lit another cigarette. “They’re too young right now.”

“But Abraxas is nearly five,” Ginny said. “Won’t he have questions?”

“He hasn’t yet. I just have to hope he won’t for a while more.” Draco stuffed a half-eaten scone into his mouth. “Say, I think your Tom’s a Longbottom.”

Nigel raised his eyebrows. “A what?”

Draco chuckled at his own joke, which neither Ginny nor Nigel found funny. “He’s a Squib.”

“You don’t know that, Malfoy,” Nigel replied defencively.

“Like fun I don’t. I know a Squib when I see one. A distant cousin of mine’s a Squib too. Pity. So young. Oh well. Suppose there’s one in every family.”

“He might be a late bloomer,” Ginny replied bitterly. “Like Longbottom.”

Draco rolled his eyes and took a puff on his cigarette. “Well either way, the kid’s got no spark in him at all. Now your Freddy, speaking of sparks…”

Nigel worried. “I know. He can’t help it.”

“He shoots off about once an hour,” Draco said, laughing a bit. “Nearly singed Greta’s robes at one point. That gave us a laugh!”

“Does she sleep with you every night?” Ginny asked.

“Are we changing the subject?” Draco asked back. “You should train Freddy up a bit, Chaucer, teach him Wingardium Leviosa or something. When I was Freddy’s age, I sent off sparks out of my nose! Father taught me how to conjure things, like toys and such. Nothing complicated. Just enough to stop the sparks.”

“No wonder you could do _serpentsortia_ at thirteen,” Ginny noted.

“Twelve,” Draco corrected her haughtily.

“Whatever.”

“Look, you guys are welcome to use the property to teach him a few things. I could teach him a couple of things, too. So could Greta. She’s great at Switching Spells.”

Nigel suddenly imagined the havoc that could create at home. “Well, maybe some basics, yeah? I’ll think we should save Switching Spells for Hogwarts.”

* * * * *

The children ran and played tag by the pond, while Greta sat by the side, watching carefully as Tom and Paige played with building blocks. Suddenly, Tom clapped his hands together, and three of the blocks rose high in the air. He laughed gleefully as they hovered over their heads, and when he clapped his fat little hands together again, the blocks fell to the grass below. Paige giggled and rolled over and over.

“Children are so strange, aren’t they?” Draco whispered to Nigel as they approached. “Tom seems to be just like you, with that creepy wandless magic stuff.”

“DADDY!” George squealed. He leapt into his father’s arms and hugged Nigel’s neck tightly, almost desperately. 

“Hey Georgie Porgie!” Nigel said, laughing.

Nigel gave him a big squeeze and bent down to set George on the grass. But George wouldn’t let go.

“NO!!!” he protested, struggling to hold onto his father’s neck. “Don’t go, Daddy!”

“I’m here, George,” Nigel said, bending down again. “I’m not going.”

“NOOO!!!” George screamed. He gripped Nigel’s neck even more tightly.

“Hold him, Nigel,” Ginny said, perplexed by their son’s behaviour.

“Hey, don’t worry, baby,” Nigel whispered into George’s ear. “I won’t leave you.”

George buried his head in Nigel’s shoulder and sobbed. Ginny came over and rubbed George’s back.

“What is it, honey?” she asked. “Why are you crying? Tell Mummy.”

George shook his head and continued to whimper.

“Are you sick, baby?” Nigel asked.

No.

“Are you hungry?”

No.

“Hey, let’s go see Freddy and Abraxas!” Nigel said. He walked over to the others, and without letting go of George, knelt down in the grass so that George’s feet touched the ground. Nigel loosened his hold on his son so that George had to stand on his own. “You want to play with your big brother?” he asked George.

George shook his head no. “They don’t like me,” he finally replied.

Nigel frowned. “Why don’t you think they like you?”

“Because I can’t make blocks fly like Tom can!”

Nigel sat back on the grass and pulled George into his lap, wrapping his arms around the boy. “Listen, George, all of us have special things that we can do. Tom can make things fly, but you can do special things, too. You are Daddy’s special little guy, you know that?”

George gave Nigel a sloppy wet kiss on the nose, and just like that, he scampered off to play with the other children. Nigel could only sit and watch in complete wonder. Draco was right—children really were quite strange. One moment, George was nearly hysterical, and the next moment, he was galloping across the lawn in pursuit of Abraxas Malfoy.

That afternoon, Nigel and Ginny took the boys to Diagon Alley to visit their Weasley uncles at the shop. That was always a favourite family outing for everyone, but this time, Nigel paused in front of Flourish and Blott’s.

“I’ll meet you at Fred and George’s, Ginny. I’m just going to duck in here for a few moments.”

Inside the shop, Nigel navigated through the thick tangle of tomes of all sizes and shapes, including a new book of culinary potions, by Jade Weintraub. She smiled out from the cover, a chef’s apron fastened around her bright red robes, standing in a sunlit kitchen.

“This would drive Severus mad,” Nigel said to himself. But he also picked up a copy of the book for himself, knowing that it would contain the very best potion-making advice around. But that wasn’t Nigel’s main purpose for going to Floursh and Blott’s that day.

Nigel stuck Jade’s book under his arm and headed for the parenting section. He knew what he wanted, but there were so many titles, including titles on twins, on Animorphmagi, on homeschooling small children (Nigel grabbed a book on that subject), and…ah yes, there it is…on raising Squibs. Nigel glanced through all the titles, not sure which one to get. He thumbed through the tables of contents of all the books, but they all looked the same.

“Magda Silver is good on the subject,” a woman said.

Nigel turned to mumble “thanks,” but stopped when he realized that it was Hermione who gave him the advice. They both laughed and gave each other a quick hug.

“Why do I always seem to run into you in bookstores?” Nigel asked.

“Birds of a feather, right?” She looked at the book in Nigel’s hand. “What’s this? Squibs?”

Nigel nodded. “Maybe. We’re not sure yet. This is all new territory for me, I mean, I didn’t grow up with any of this. If my son is…that…then I want to do the right thing for him.”

Hermione smiled warmly. “You’re a good father, Nigel.”

“So what about you and Ron?” Nigel asked. “When will it be your turn?” As soon as he said it, Nigel wished he hadn’t. Hermione’s face fell.

“It’s not that we haven’t tried,” she started.

“It just takes a while in some women,” Nigel said. “And maybe it’s not you. It could be bad timing. There are a lot of factors that go into reproduction. Stress can play a role, too.”

Hermione nodded. “It’s just hard sometimes. You and Ginny have three, Draco has two, even Severus has one.”

“Two.”

Hermione’s frown increased. “Right. They have a son now. Nigel?”

“I wished he’d given him a more original name. Bloody confusing. Hey, just give it time, Hermione. The worst thing you can do is to get upset.”

They walked over to the window, where it was less crowded.

“The only one who’s upset over this is me,” she said quietly. “Ron couldn’t care less.”

“That’s odd. He comes from a large family.”

“That’s why he…” She blushed. “He doesn’t really want a child.”

“What? That’s mad!”

“He says he likes it quiet around the house.”

“That’s not right, Hermione, I mean, if you want kids and he doesn’t, well…you’ve got to sort it out with him! He’s not using a…you know…a condom?” Nigel whispered the last word.

“I won’t let him,” she said. “He tried that on our honeymoon, and I wouldn’t have it. Maybe there’s something you can do, as a Healer.”

“Actually, we didn’t really cover reproductive issues in training. But listen, Hermione, maybe I can put you in touch with a muggle gynecologist.”

“I thought of that,” she replied. “Mum’s got a good one. Look, I need to go. But let’s keep this conversation between us, alright?”

Nigel kissed her on the cheek. “Healer-patient privilege, right?”

“Good luck with that book you’ve got. I hope it works out for you.”


	5. Dina Florescu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nigel had every intention of ignoring her, but she quickly approached him, and just as quickly changed the subject. She was very pretty, in fact, she was quite beautiful. Her features were delicate and refined, almost like a china doll, and her stunning brown eyes were bright and sparkled with life and intelligence.  
> _

Monday morning. Time to get the paper. Dressed in muggle jeans and a heavy sweater, Nigel trudged down to the usual corner to get the muggle newspaper, like he did every day. It was nice to be free from the likes of Reggie Pink for a change. In fact, Nigel hadn’t seen Pink since the article came out. He bought the _Times_ , shook hands with the seller, and then headed back home.

That was when he saw them.

They all wore the same green nylon jacket and khaki trousers. There must have been seven or eight of them, standing in a long line across the street, all staring intently at Nigel as he passed by. One of them, a very tall, very pale, middle-aged man, pointed at Nigel and spoke to the rest of the group.

“And there,” Nigel heard him, “is the man himself, the Great Nigel Weasley-Chaucer. Word has it that he is a powerful demon-slayer and that he used to be just like one of us. But then he was trained by an elusive mentor and given the deepest secrets of the magical world.”

Nigel felt compelled to stop and correct the bad information, but he balked. It was better, or so he thought, to ignore it and let the muggles have their fantasies. What was the harm?

But the next day, there were twenty, not seven or eight. The following day, forty.

Nigel decided to buy his paper elsewhere. Miles away, in fact. He also decided, reluctantly, to start apparating to work—he would miss his morning walks.

More patients, more incurables, more research into new potions. Life went on in its usual, rather quiet pattern, something Nigel had grown to love over the last few years. No more crises at the Ministry, or murder investigations, or battling dark wizards. Nigel was content to live his small life as it was, especially since it seemed increasingly clear to him that his son really was a Squib. He felt tempted to talk to Neville about it, since Neville was a notorious late-bloomer, but then again, Nigel balked. He didn’t want to embarrass his friend. At the same time, his concern for George increased, as did his concern for his other sons.

Tom seemed to have no issues about using his magic, whenever he wanted in fact. Nigel got the idea that even though Tom was just a year old, he knew exactly what he was doing. He could clearly control his powers and consciously direct them towards specific objects around the flat. Getting Tom to restrain himself was a task in itself, one that Nigel wished he could undertake concerning Freddy. Freddy was the polar opposite of Tom, in more ways than one. While Freddy was as rambunctious as any four year-old boy, he always wanted to do things the muggle way, as if his magic scared him or put him off somehow. In some ways, Nigel could understand how his son felt, but at the same time, he knew that it was crucial for Freddy to feel natural about his powers. How could he not? He was a born wizard, and a damn good one…Nigel presumed. If only Freddy would test out his powers, see what he could do. Maybe Freddy was watching too much muggle telly.

Nigel decided to take up Draco on his offer to use Malfoy Manor to teach Freddy a few things about magic.

The three of them stood near the pond that Saturday, ready to start. Draco kept to one side letting Nigel take the lead.

“Right. OK, Freddy,” Nigel said, “I’m going to teach you a little spell called _Wingardium Leviosa_.”

“He needs a wand,” Draco pointed out.

“He doesn’t,” Nigel shot back. “All right Freddy, are you ready?”

“I don’t want to do magic, Daddy,” Freddy protested. “They don’t do magic at Grandma Chaucer’s.”

Draco couldn’t mask his disgust, but Nigel checked him with a fierce glare. Draco rolled his eyes and looked out at the water.

“Grandma Chaucer is a muggle,” Nigel explained. “You are a wizard.”

“I want to be a muggle, Daddy!”

Nigel opened his mouth to speak, but this time, Draco stopped him. He pulled out his wand. “Look at this, Freddy,” he said, pointing his wand at a stone on the grass. With a casual flick of his wand, Draco turned the stone into a teddy bear with bright blue eyes and a red bowtie. Freddy giggled at the sight and grabbed the bear.

“It’s yours,” Draco said.

“Say thank-you, Freddy,” Nigel reminded him.

Freddy looked up. “Thank you, Uncle Draco.”

Draco crouched down, to make him Freddy’s height. “Now how about this?” Draco pointed his wand at Nigel, and with another flick, shrank Nigel down to about two feet tall. Freddy burst out laughing.

“Very funny, Draco,” Nigel said, looking up at both of them, laughing. Freddy reached out to pat Nigel on the head—Nigel felt like a hobbit.

“Daddy! You’re a doll!” he squealed with delight.

“No, Freddy,” Nigel corrected him, “I’m an action figure. There’s a world of difference.”

Draco laughed and put Nigel back to his own size again. “You’re lucky I like you, Weaselby-Chaucer,” he said. “If it were Potter, I’d have kept him like that for a while.”

Nigel turned to Freddy. “So, buddy, are you ready to learn something today?”

Freddy opened his eyes wide, his mind racing. He didn’t answer right away.

“Freddy, this is to help you stop sparking,” Nigel explained. “You want that, right?”

Freddy hiccupped, sending sparks out of his ears once again. He nodded enthusiastically.

Nigel smiled and mussed Freddy’s hair.

* * * * *

Sunday morning, Nigel arose with a start, afraid he had overslept. He wanted to make the mid-morning service at St. Paul’s, but everyone else was fast asleep. He decided not to wake the boys, preferring to let them have a lie-in today. Nigel quickly dressed and headed out, knowing he was terribly late for the service. No sooner had he stepped out of his flat then he was accosted by a huge mass of people, all dressed in those same green nylon jackets. Flashbulbs from cameras went off all at once in Nigel’s face, nearly blinding him.

“Nigel!”

“Nigel!”

“How are you, Nigel?”

“Can you cure my cancer, Nigel?”

“Do a spell for us, Nigel!”

“Disappear for us! I want it on video!”

Horrified, Nigel dashed back inside and, with use of a spell, barred the door against the crowd. He apparated straight to St. Paul’s, hoping no one would see him appear out of thin air. As far as he knew, no one did. Nigel sat in the back pew of the grand church and listened attentively to the minister. He prayed for his children, for Ginny, for his parents, for Hermione and Ron, for Draco, for Neville, and for all his friends and family. After the service was over and the ministers had processed out of the church, Nigel stood up to leave, wondering how to get home without being seen.

“Excuse me, Mr. Chaucer,” a young woman said, just two pews ahead of him. She rose and joined him in his pew, looking a bit bashful. “I saw you arrive…well…out of…thin air.” She giggled nervously.

Nigel had every intention of ignoring her, but she quickly approached him, and just as quickly changed the subject. She was very pretty, in fact, she was quite beautiful. Her features were delicate and refined, almost like a china doll, and her stunning brown eyes were bright and sparkled with life and intelligence.

“I am seeing right, aren’t I?” she asked politely.

There was no denying it. After all, he had done that very thing on television. He couldn’t tell a lie.

“Well, yeah, you saw right,” Nigel replied sheepishly.

She grinned widely. “That makes me feel loads better,” she said. “For a second I thought maybe I was having visions!”

They laughed.

“I normally don’t arrive that way to church,” Nigel explained. “Conditions this morning made it sort of mandatory.”

“Sleep late?”

“Maybe.”

“I recognised you, you know, from the _Weekly Observatory_ …”

Nigel rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Look, Miss…”

“Dina. Dina Florescu.”

“Miss Florescu. That article was a total fake. The writer completely exaggerated what I told him, and he mostly just outright lied! I wouldn’t believe the first word of that article.”

But Dina only smiled admiringly at him. “I’ve got it nearly memorized, you know. I always read Reginald Pink’s works. He’s amazing.”

Nigel frowned. “Amazing isn’t quite the description I’d give him, to be frank,” he said bitterly. He stood up. “Well, I’ve got to get home. Nice to meet you.”

He didn’t expect her to follow him outside, and all the way down the steps. This was starting to get annoying. Nigel turned to face her, more than a little irritated.

“Look, Miss Florescu, I really have nothing else to say. I’m sorry.”

“But if the article was all wrong, then perhaps you could set it right? I’m not a reporter.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m an interested party,” she said. “And I’m a witch.”

Nigel raised his eyebrows. “A witch? Where did you study?”

“I belong to a coven. We live in Soho. We’ve studied together for three years, since I arrived in London.”

Nigel folded his arms across his chest. “Wicca?”

Dina shrugged. “Sort of. It’s sort of our own brand of the Craft. It’s what was given to us by the Goddess.”

Nigel nodded, incredulous. “I said this to Pink, and I’ll say it to you. The magic I do has nothing to do with any spiritual path. I’m not a Wiccan or a pagan priest or anything like that. I’m just an everyday bloke with a wife and kids and a regular job. That’s it! Nothing special or spectacular.”

“But I heard you slew dark wizards.”

“I didn’t slay anyone,” Nigel said. “Pink’s made me out to be some god figure, but I’m not. I swear.”

Dina smiled sweetly. She really was quite pretty, Nigel noticed again. The sunlight shone down on her hair, giving it a lovely copper sheen. Nigel wondered just a little at what she wore—a long black dress, almost like robes but not quite, and a string of silver beads around her graceful neck. She looked a bit Goth to Nigel, but attractive and intriguing all the same.

“Look, Mr. Chaucer, I know you’re very busy, but I do have some serious questions about magic. I’m not trying to be annoying or to seduce you or anything. The Craft is the centre of my whole life, and I always seek to know more, even if it’s a different sort of magic. Do you think we could talk some time?”

Nigel wasn’t so sure what to say. He supposed he could speak in generalities to her—maybe that would be alright. On the other hand, speaking about the magical world with a muggle could cause no end of trouble. On the other hand, she already knew a little about it. A little more couldn’t do damage, could it? But no. It just wouldn’t be right. He couldn’t risk exposing the magical world more than it already was. And plus, if Ginny ever heard that he was meeting up with another woman, especially a pretty woman like Dina, she’d hex him back to the Stone Age.

Therefore, one lovely morning in early March, as Nigel sat on a bench in Hyde Park, reading _The Portal_ and watching his sons play, the last person he expected to see was Dina, approaching tentatively, armed with what looked very much like a picnic basket. Nigel hoped it wasn’t filled with strange muggle potions. He also wondered briefly whether this was another coincidence. Well, no harm in being friendly.

Nigel waved to her. “Hi!”

“Do you mind if I join you?” she asked, sitting down at the far end of his bench. She wore another long, black dress, and was draped in strings of beads and amulets and chains. Nigel couldn’t help but think of Professor Trelawney, except that he didn’t remember Trelawney having such a sensuous curve at the waist.

“Just happened to be in this part of Hyde Park?” Nigel asked, masking his suspicion.

“Are those your sons?” she asked. “You’ve got two redheads. That’s good luck.”

“They’re all good luck to me. They keep me grounded. You have any?”

Dina shook her head. “No. I’m only twenty-two. I used to have a boyfriend, though. We lived near the Tor—have you been?”

“Once. It’s sort of a nexus of energy there.”

“I LOVE that place. So much magic there. But then Dieter moved away and then I moved to Cornwall and lived with a coven. We used to tap into the power of the sea to increase our magic.”

“Makes sense,” Nigel mused. “Every inch of air has energy, if you can channel it.”

“Is that what you do?” she asked excitedly.

“More or less. I pull in energy from everything around me.”

“Even people?”

“I suppose,” Nigel said. “But not really. I mean, we all have our own centre of energy that is particular to us, but it works differently from the rest of nature.”

“In our coven, we were practicing transferring magic to each other through breathing.”

That didn’t sound quite right. Nigel crinkled his nose. “Breathing?”

“We’d breathe into each other’s mouths, once we were in the proper frame of mind. It’s amazing how much energy you gain! You should try it some time.”

Nigel chuckled. “I’ve got quite enough of that, thanks.”

Dina opened the basket and pulled out a ham sandwich. “Would you like one?”

“No thanks,” Nigel replied.

“Would your boys like one?”

“We’re having lunch with my wife soon. Can’t spoil their appetites.” He stood up and glanced at his watch. “In fact, we should get going. Nice talking to you.”

“Bye.”

* * * * *

“You’re an idiot, Chaucer!” Draco said, disgusted. The two of them sat on Abraxas’ huge bed that evening while Abraxas and Paige drew pictures on the wall with toy wands. Draco brought a bottle of Old Ogden’s to share with Nigel.

“We just talked about magical energy, Draco! That was it. It was totally general, perfectly innocent!”

“And that’s what you told Ginny, right?” Draco eyed him skeptically, trying to look Nigel in the eye. Nigel turned away.

“Don’t try that Legilimency shit on me, Malfoy!” Nigel snapped. “You think I’m up to no good?”

Draco laughed at that. “You? The Great Nigel Weasley-Chaucer, hero of the Wizarding World up to no good? Never!”

“Don’t be cheeky with me, mate! You’re so full of it!”

Draco filled Nigel’s glass and drained his own. “For what it’s worth, Nigel, here it is. This Dina Whatsherface is a muggle, which is trouble enough, and she’s also a woman. A young woman. Does that ring any bells for you, or do you think yourself above the usual sins of us mere mortals?”

Nigel hated it when Draco became so bitingly sarcastic. On the other hand, he couldn’t really argue.

“She sought me out,” he replied. “I had no idea she would show up with a bloody picnic basket!”

Draco frowned. He set his refilled glass on the nightstand, and placed both hands on Nigel’s shoulders. “Listen to me, Nigel. I’m talking to you as a friend. I love both of you very much, and I don’t want to see your marriage go into the dustbin like mine did. I know very well how it feels when the person you love betrays you. I was betrayed first by my parents, and then by my wife.” Nigel opened his mouth to protest, but Draco stopped him. “I know you’ve been true to Ginny, but you don’t know what this woman’s agenda is. And if she wants to bear a wizard child or something…”

“Oh come on! This is too much! Draco, you’ve had a bit too much to drink, I think.”

“Maybe so, but I know I’m right on this. Stay the fuck away from that woman, Nigel. She’s trouble.”

Nigel found that out all too quickly the moment he returned from Malfoy Manor. A furious Ginny greeted him at the door, hands on hips, nearly fuming with rage. Nigel’s heart pounded in his chest.

“I was at Draco’s,” he blurted out guiltily.

“And earlier?” she asked, her voice hard and cold.

“The park. I took the boys.”

“And who is the lady in the black dress you seemed so friendly with?”

Damn.

“How did…” Nigel started, remembering Draco’s warning.

“Oh, Freddy mentioned something about a woman you seemed very chatty with today!”

“So what? Am I not allowed to talk to someone because she happens to be a woman?” Nigel knew he was pushing his luck, but he had to try.

“Oh, you can talk to whomever you wish, but I would have to draw the line at sharing a bloody PICNIC BASKET with her!” Ginny hissed.

“OK, Dina had…”

“Dina? So the slag has a name?”

“Ginny! Give me a chance to tell you!”

Ginny stood back and haughtily folded her arms across her chest. “Fine. Explain.”

Suddenly, it dawned on Nigel. He glared at her, outraged by her presumption. “What do you think of me, Ginny? We have been married for seven years! We’ve known each other for eleven years! When was I ever the sort of person who would cheat like that?” Nigel could feel his anger rising, but he checked himself. “Gods, Ginny! What sort of man do you think I am? You think I’m no different from Pansy Malfoy?”

“Well no,” Ginny replied, fighting to keep her anger aflame. “But in front of our boys?”

“What in front of our boys? What did I do other than have a conversation? How did that give scandal?”

“Well it didn’t…but you have to be careful! Especially after that awful article!”

Nigel sighed. “I know that, Ginny. That’s why I’ve been trying to avoid muggles these days. I even had to stop walking to the newsstand in the morning. Ginny, please know I would never betray you. Never! You know that, right? You’re my wife, and the mother of my sons! I would never…” His anger spilled over into bitter grief and confusion. He turned away.

Ginny touched his arm. “Nigel, I…”

But she said no more. They threw themselves into each other’s arms, kissing and crying and whispering sweet-nothings and spending the next several hours making up, again and again.

* * * * *

Monday morning, a special owl post arrived, in blue parchment, sealed with a yellow stamp. Ginny opened up the parchment and read it over. She smiled.

“Nigel!” she called.

Nigel poured out bowls of cereal for Freddy and George and levitated them over to the breakfast table. Then he nodded at Freddy, who pointed his finger at the refrigerator door. He waggled his finger, just as his father taught him, and the door opened. Nigel, Ginny and George all applauded—a very pleased Freddy applauded, too.

“Can you bring the milk over?” Nigel asked.

Freddy eyed the plastic jug of milk, his face entirely focused. He stretched out his hands and moved them upward.

“Slowly, son,” Nigel coached.

Slowly, guided by Freddy, the jug of milk floated over to the breakfast table, but suddenly, he lost control—the jug spun around and crashed to the floor. Freddy froze, not knowing what to do. Ginny pointed her wand at the mess, and in a second, it was gone. Tom giggled and clapped.

“Mummy, Tom made me drop it!” Freddy grumbled. “He made it spin!”

Nigel turned to Tom and gave him a very cross look. Tom stopped clapping and instead, burst into tears.

“Don’t scare him, Nigel,” Ginny said.

“I didn’t. That was pure guilt that made him cry.” He quickly conjured up a new jug of milk for the table. “You did just fine, Freddo.”

“Tom,” Ginny said soothingly, “remember about not interfering with your brother’s magic? Oh, Nigel, look at that parchment. It just came by owl post.”

Nigel read it over:

_**Coming in September!** _

_The Patil Academy for Young Witches and Wizards_

_Mums and Dads across Britain, have you wondered how to educate your young child before they go off to Hogwarts? Have you struggled with the demands of homeschooling? Have you had to place your child in muggle school, only to have to remove them? Do you need a proper school for your little witch or wizard?_

_The Patil Academy is opening its doors for the first time, starting September 8—that will give you time to get your older ones off to Hogwarts safely. The Patil Academy, founded by Padma Patil (Ravenclaw ’98) and Parvati Patil-Finnegan (Gryffindor ’98), educates children in letters and numbers, plus gives your child a grounding in reading, grammar, basic maths, and lots of physical education._

_Located on a private estate, protected by muggle-repelling charms, the Patil Academy offers your child everything she or he will need before they go to Hogwarts, the most important thing being a community of other young witches and wizards. Come to our Open House on April 2, from 1:00 to 5:00. Children ages 2-10 are eligible._

“Wow,” Nigel said. “That’s awesome!”

“And it will give us time to think about our little problem about you-know-what.”

Nigel knew exactly what she meant. Actually, it was perfect for George. He could be around other witches and wizards and Squibs and his parents could do more research into an ideal placement for him. And he’d get an education. And if Freddy could learn a little Quidditch before he got to Hogwarts, he might find himself on the Slytherin team…or whatever house he was sorted into. But he hoped Freddy would be in Slytherin. Then again, Nigel was sure that Ginny wished he would be in Gryffindor. Who knew? Maybe Freddy would be in Hufflepuff. Did it really matter?

“I wonder why no one ever did this before,” Nigel said.

“More witches are working these days,” Ginny said. “We’re still more traditional than muggle society—most witches stay home to raise their kids, even today.”

It turned out that every witch and wizard with children under the age of eleven received a notice, including Severus Snape. Nigel wondered if he would see his cousin and Allegra at the Open House. The thought of the tall, dark, gaunt Snape eating finger sandwiches at a little garden party, surrounded by droves of little children made Nigel laugh.

The week passed with much the same activity. Tom started a little fire in the bathroom on Tuesday, which Ginny put out. No ice cream for Tom that night. Tom cried. On Wednesday, Tom levitated the package of ice cream to himself, but before he could get a single bite, Ginny caught him. She had to put magical barriers on everything in the flat for a while so Tom couldn’t get into trouble. But she also put him into his playpen—without toys—for a half hour. She also put a shield over the top so he couldn’t apparate out.

“We’ve got to do something about Tom,” she said to Nigel that night in bed. “He doesn’t know how to regulate himself. To him, magic is all a game, and he’s looking to have abilities like yours. And I can’t reason with him because he’s too little for that. You know that clock my parents have? Tom made it sprout flowers, and no one knows how to make it stop!”

“Well, he’ll be two pretty soon, I mean, he’s getting close to an age where we can do a little more with him.”

“I put barriers on everything today so he can’t damage anything else around here. Freddy will have to practice on something else.”

That Saturday, Nigel took Freddy to the park, though this time, a different part of Hyde Park—he hoped Dina wouldn’t suddenly show up. Father and son sat facing each other on the grass, rolling a quaffle back and forth to each other. Nigel thought it would be good for Freddy to get the feel of a quaffle, just in case. He glanced about furtively, and, seeing no muggles and no Dina, turned to Freddy and said, “OK, son, let it fly to me!”

And with a great wave of his hands, Freddy made the quaffle fly so hard and so fast that it knocked Nigel over when he caught it. Nigel sat up and rolled it back to Freddy. “Great job, Freddy! Do it again!”

Freddy did it again, then again, and again once more, each time laughing louder and more joyously. He made the quaffle twirl about in a figure eight pattern the next time, and then, he made it zoom around Nigel’s head before it dropped into Nigel’s lap.

“Great job! Well done!”

“Yes, very well done!”

Nigel whipped about, and to his chagrin, saw Dina Florescu approach, clapping for Freddy. Same dress, same beads, same pretty eyes. Nigel stood up.

“Come on, Freddy, we’ve got to go.”

“Freddy?” Dina asked, smiling down at the boy. “Hi, Freddy, I’m Dina.”

“Hi,” Freddy replied, still holding the quaffle.

“We were just going,” Nigel said, grabbing Freddy by the hand. “Take care.”

“Wait just a moment, Nigel,” Dina pleaded. “Can I just ask you one quick question?”

Nigel sighed. “What is it?”

“Are witches and wizards immortal?” she asked. “The article speculated…”

“That article is rubbish, Dina,” Nigel retorted impatiently. “I told you that. Witches and wizards are human, just as much as you are. There’s no mortal realm versus magical realm. There’s just one world, and this is it. Period.” There. That had to do it.

“But if a wizard can die,” she continued, “what happens to his powers?”

Huh? Where was she going with this? Nigel didn’t want to know. “I suppose they die with him,” he replied. “Or her.”

“Do you suppose they can be transferred?”

Nigel found he had no answer. After all, wasn’t it true that in some strange way, magical powers had somehow been transferred to him through Fred and George’s blood? And hadn’t some of Lord Voldemort’s powers somehow been transferred to Harry, at least temporarily?

“Honestly, Dina,” he replied, “I have no idea, but I seriously doubt it. I mean, if it were true, I don’t think it would happen in any obvious way.”

“What way do you suppose it might happen?” she asked.

Again, he had no response. “I don’t know, to be honest.”

“It’s just that I read in old witch-lore that if you breathe in the dying breath of a wizard, you can obtain his powers. Is that true?”

Nigel blanched. “That doesn’t sound quite right. Your magic isn’t in your breath.”

“But your energy is everywhere, right? That’s what you said.”

“I don’t really know. I think you’re getting into areas that I’ve never explored before. Look, Dina, we’ve really got to go.”

Nigel picked up Freddy and walked briskly away, turning into a dark, shady patch of trees, eager to get as far away from Dina as possible. Still holding Freddy tightly in his arms, Nigel quickly disapparated.


	6. Mortal Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nigel missed the outdoor air and the time alone to think and plan and imagine new potions. The air felt so good that night, so fresh and new. He looked up at the moon placidly, shining bright overhead, lighting the night sky with its soft glow. Nigel could almost feel the moon’s vibrations, hear the wind crackle as it sailed through the open street. He could picture George trying to jump up and down to catch the moonbeams in his little hands…_
> 
> _Snap…_
> 
> _…A shadow_
> 
> _What the?..._
> 
> _…And then…_

The Burrow was unusually crowded that night. Ron and Hermione had dropped by for dinner, as had Percy, Charlie, Bill and Fleur, and the twins. When Nigel, Ginny and the boys walked in the front door, they were greeted by an explosion of chattering and yelling and laughing. Apparently, Fred and George were testing one of their new products, using a very reluctant Ron as guinea pig.

“Remember when you used to work for us, Ronnie-poo?” Fred asked with a snigger.

“Just barely, until you gave me that anti-splinching vest. I splinched myself twice!” Ron shot back.

Everyone except Hermione laughed.

“”Hey, splinching is bloody painful, I’ll have you know!” Ron pointed out, instinctively rubbing his foot. “I could have bled to death!”

“You splinched ONE toe,” Fred pointed out. “Not your whole ruddy foot! Now drink down the potion and tell us what you see.”

“Go on, Ron!” Charlie crowed. “We’re dying to see!”

“Just as long as you’re not here to see me die,” Ron grumbled. He took the little purple bottle and drank down the contents.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothin…wait.

Nothing.

But…Ron squinted, then goggled at Hermione.

“Oh my gods,” he murmured. He grinned wickedly. “Stand up, Hermione.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Just stand up and turn around. Wow.” He purred at her.

Fred and George grinned at each other. Ron gave Hermione a look that shocked Molly Weasley.

“What is in that potion, Fred?” she demanded. “What is he seeing?”

Fred and George grinned at each other again.

“Shall we give Mum some, Fred?” George asked.

“They are adults, George,” Fred replied. “But I think we should give it to Dad.”

“What’s in it?” Nigel asked.

“We’ll tell you later,” Fred whispered to him. “Hey, where’s my little namesake?” Spotting little Freddy, Fred leaped out of his chair and chased a laughing and squealing Freddy all over the house.

Ginny gave her mother a little kiss on the cheek.

“How’s your George?” Molly asked.

“Fine,” Ginny replied. “Actually, I’m more worried about our Tom!”

“Still doing out of control magic?” Molly asked.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what to do with him?”

“We thought of making him sleep on the roof,” Nigel said, joining in the conversation. “But he’d get too chilly up there.”

“He’d figure out how to disapparate anyway,” Ginny said.

Nigel nodded. “True.”

Molly grinned wistfully. “He reminds me of Fred and George when they were little. Couldn’t keep them in check from day one. I think you just have to endure it until he’s a bit older. Put anti-magic spells on your breakables.”

“And pray he doesn’t turn George into a giant turtle,” Nigel said.

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full,” Molly said. “Welcome to parenthood!” But then she frowned. “But what about George? What will you do about him?”

“We’re checking out that Patil Academy in April,” Nigel told her. “It looks promising.”

“Good,” Molly replied, patting Nigel’s hand. “Too bad we didn’t have that when ours were young. Wonderful idea!”

Dinner that night was huge, opulent, over the top, in typical Weasley style. Everyone brought something—not being cooks, Nigel and Ginny brought bottles of wine. Percy brought a ham, Bill and Fleur brought several quiches, Charlie brought a vat of roasted potatoes and fresh steaks, and Fred and George brought mountains of desserts and sweets. The trick was, as with everything the twins brought, to figure out which sweets were real and which were one of their joke products. Freddy found out fairly quickly when he ate a piece of ton-tongue toffee. Arthur rushed over to put Freddy’s tongue right, but Freddy thought the whole thing a hoot.

“I want another one!” he laughed.

After dinner it was coffee and pies and cakes and fudge. Percy played the piano in the corner, but Fred and George kept jinxing it to make it play off-key. Ron and Hermione bickered in the kitchen over something—Nigel couldn’t fathom what it could be this time. Perhaps over children? That potion must have worn off, whatever it was. And then Arthur asked a very uncomfortable question.

“So, Nigel, any fallout from that terrible article?”

Ginny threw him a warning look.

“It’s been tricky, actually, Arthur,” Nigel replied. “Some fans, I guess you’d call them. People into the occult mostly. UFO junkies and that sort. I had to start apparating to work.” He paused. “And then there was…this woman.”

Arthur looked at Ginny. “Woman?” he asked.

As Nigel explained the whole story, Arthur’s frown deepened.

“Why haven’t you told the Ministry about this?” he asked.

“Why should I?” Nigel wondered. “This isn’t about the Ministry, Arthur. It’s about me.”

“If it’s about you, Nigel, it’s about the Ministry,” Arthur replied. “You are always a top concern of ours.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Nigel said, abashed.

“Actually, it’s crucial. A man with powers like yours is a constant target, and not just of wizards.”

“You can’t be serious, Dad,” Ginny said. “A target? Isn’t that a bit much?”

“Ever since Nigel disapparated on television, he generated a lot of interest in both worlds. There are a lot of people who would be gunning for you, Nigel,” Arthur said darkly.

“Gunning?” Ginny cried, alarmed.

“Just an expression, dear,” Arthur replied, patting her shoulder. “Nigel taught me that.”

“So what do we do about this woman?” Nigel asked. “I figured the best way of handling it is to keep far away from her.”

“Actually, Nigel, you might want to speak to her again,” Arthur said.

“Dad! He can’t do that! She’s strange!” Ginny snapped.

“If you talk to her again, Nigel, you can learn more about her and determine just how much of a threat she really is,” Arthur pointed out. “One or two more conversations should do it. Then we can assess her motives and decide how to act.”

“Dad, I don’t like that at all,” Ginny said.

“Frankly, Arthur, I don’t either,” Nigel echoed. “What will the Ministry do? Do I talk to you about what she says?”

“Precisely. Listen, Nigel, you’ve been unfairly exposed to the muggle world, far more than you should have been. We have to think that there are plenty of muggles who will want to ask you for information. The Ministry needs to know how to respond to this.”

Nigel nodded. “I see your point. I’ll do it, but just one conversation.”

“Good boy.”

* * * * *

Two weeks passed. More work, more dealings with Tom and his out of control magic, more lessons with Freddy. Still no magic from George. Both Nigel and Ginny looked forward to the open house at the Patil Academy—just one more week! They had so many questions for the Patils, and they were excited to see the property the classrooms, the playgrounds, and to meet the teachers. Ginny heard that Lisa Turpin and Susan Finch-Fletchley were teachers there, but to her mild surprise, Greta would not be a part of the enterprise. Maybe she was happy at Malfoy Manor. Maybe she expected something a little more permanent from Draco. Anyway, it would be lovely to see so many of their classmates again, something that had become a great difficulty now that everyone was so busy working and starting young families.

The morning of March 20, Nigel awoke to find his bed empty, and the bathroom door shut. He could hear moaning inside.

“Ginny?” Nigel tapped on the door. “You alright?” More moaning. Nigel waved his hand, opening the door. Ginny knelt on the floor, hunched over the toilet.

She sat back on her heels and wiped her mouth with a tissue, then sighed.

“Number four,” she said simply.

Nigel’s heart skipped a beat. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek. “Want some tea? Why don’t you go back to bed? I’ll call St. Mungo's and tell them I’ll be late.” He helped Ginny to her feet and escorted her back to their bed.

“Can you take the boys to my mum’s?”

“I’ll take care of everything, alright? You just rest. And I’ll bring home some anti-nausea potion. Anuarite just brewed some for her patients the other day.”

“You’re a saint, Nigel. I love you.”

Nigel busied himself, first sending an owl to the hospital to tell them he’d be in after lunch—he explained why—and then he made a pot of ginger tea and some scrambled eggs, one of the few things he could cook fairly decently. After he buttered the toast and poured out the tea, Nigel set everything on a tray, which he floated into their bedroom while he got the boys ready to go to the Burrow. Then, Nigel quickly apparated the boys to Molly Weasley.

“I’m sorry we’re so early this morning, Molly,” Nigel explained, trying to catch his breath. George tugged on the belt of Nigel’s robes. “Ginny is very unwell this morning. She’s in no condition to be chasing after this crew today.”

“Oh dear, I hope it’s nothing serious,” Arthur gasped. He was still dressed in his nightshirt and red fluffy socks. Freddy jumped into his grandfather’s arms while Molly took Tom from Nigel.

Nigel cracked a grin. “Nothing that eight or nine months won’t cure.”

“OH MY GOODNESS!” Molly cried. “Number four! Oh Nigel! I’m so happy for you!” Still holding Tom, she pulled Nigel into a tight embrace. Arthur slapped Nigel on the back.

“Congratulations, son,” Arthur said, shaking Nigel’s hand. “It’s nice to see another large family taking shape. I’m proud of you both for making such a brave choice. Most would stop after three. Or two!”

“Thanks, Arthur. I was an only child, so this is all pretty exciting for me. Listen, I’ve really got to get back to her. She’s pretty sick right now.”

“Daddy!” George shouted. “I want to go!”

Nigel knelt down before him. “Look, boys, Mummy isn’t feeling very well right now, and I need to help her get better. Your Gran is going to play with you today, alright?”

By the time he arrived back to the flat, Ginny was in the bathroom again, sicking up the breakfast she just finished.

“Ginny, I’ll pop over to St. Mungo’s right now and get that potion, alright?”

Ginny nodded, not looking up.

At St. Mungo's, Nigel dashed up to the Witches’ Centre, searching desperately for Anuarite, a classmate of his. She had specialised for the last two years in witches’ health and had helped many witches deliver their children. She also developed a potion to help pregnant witches curb nausea. Nigel knew there were plenty of stores of the potion in her ward—all he needed was to ask Anuarite for a single phial.

Problem. Anuarite wasn’t in yet. Running a little late.

“Shit,” Nigel muttered. Who else could give him some? Jude Rosen perhaps? No luck. He wasn’t in yet, either. Nigel knew he couldn’t just take it, so he rushed around the ward, looking for anyone in authority to help him out. At long last, another Healer, Polly Marks, came in to check on the patients. Nigel waved her over.

“Hey, Nigel,” Polly said brightly. “I thought you weren’t coming in today.”

“I’m just here for a minute. I’ll be back later for work. But I need some of that anti-nausea stuff. Quick!”

“Ginny?”

“Yeah. She’s in bad shape.”

Polly smiled. “You stud muffin! Of course I’ll get you some potion. Come on!”

Stud muffin?

The moment Nigel had the phial in his hand, he gave Polly a quick kiss on the cheek, said “see you later,” and disapparated straight home, hoping Ginny was back in bed. To his relief, she was. Not only that, she was eating some saltines and watching telly.

“Got it!” Nigel waggled the phial and set it on the nightstand. “You OK?”

“For now. Thanks for your help this morning. Sorry to make you rush like that.”

“Hey, I got you into this condition…”

“Four times now.”

“I like even numbers.”

Ginny laughed. “I should be used to this by now. I don’t get why it gets me so sick, though.”

Nigel shrugged. “Hormones, heredity. Most women experience some sort of morning sickness. Some, unfortunately, have it for all nine months.”

Ginny shuddered. “That gives me confidence. At least I only have it for a month. Keeps my weight down anyway.”

Nigel smirked. “That’s almost funny.”

“Say, Ginny could this be from that night we sort of argued?”

“You mean the night I wanted to kill you? Probably. Just promise me one thing. If it’s a girl this time, let’s not name her Dina.”

“Deal.”

* * * * *

Work was hectic that day. Because he was so late coming in that day, Nigel’s appointments were stacked one against the next. Then it was rounds, then meeting with a new patient’s family out in Kent, then back to London for a meeting with the Minister’s Potions Council that evening after hours. They wouldn’t start until eight and would likely go for a good two hours, focusing on new concepts in Shrinking Solutions. But it would be good to see Snape again. Nigel hadn’t seen his cousin in weeks—both of them were far too busy with the demands of work and fatherhood and all the other pressures of domestic life.

Snape looked his usual sallow self. He seemed tired and sluggish. Nigel worried a little.

“Up late these days?” he asked after the meeting concluded.

Snape groaned. “Allegra’s pregnant again,” he grumbled. “She’s been sick for six nights now. Can’t bloody sleep with all that noise going on.”

“Such a rock of sensitivity, aren’t you, Severus? Actually, you’re not alone. Ginny’s in the same condition.”

Snape cocked an eyebrow. “Those Weasleys do breed, don’t they?”

“So do those Princes apparently.”

“Touche. And congratulations.”

“Same to you, Severus. You ready?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Am I ever? Allegra will undoubtedly use this to rope me into marriage.”

“Why don’t you marry her, Severus?” Nigel asked. “You love her, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“And you want to be with her forever, right?”

“Of course.”

“So what’s the holdout?”

Snape sighed. “I have never viewed marriage as anything other than an archaic form of slavery and bondage. I saw enough of that in my own early years to put me off the concept of marriage forever.”

Nigel suddenly remembered the harrowing tale of the murder-suicide of Snape’s parents. He decided to drop the subject. “So are you all gearing up for the end of the school year?”

“Not quite yet,” Snape replied. It’s not even April. I suppose you’ll be attending that open house.”

Nigel nodded. “You?”

“I am sure Allegra will insist.”

After a little more small talk, Nigel and Snape parted. Snape took the Floo Network back to Hogwarts, but Nigel decided to walk, at least part of the way. He knew it was risky, but it had been a while since he had taken a long walk like this. Nigel missed the outdoor air and the time alone to think and plan and imagine new potions. The air felt so good that night, so fresh and new. He looked up at the moon placidly, shining bright overhead, lighting the night sky with its soft glow. Nigel could almost feel the moon’s vibrations, hear the wind crackle as it sailed through the open street. He could picture George trying to jump up and down to catch the moonbeams in his little hands…

Snap…

…A shadow

What the?...

…And then…

BOOM!!! An explosion right behind him! And before he could react, SMASH! And then a vicious stab of pain slicing through his back and chest. Nigel stumbled forward, not knowing what had just happened to him. He found it nearly impossible to breathe, and to his horror, he saw that the front of his robes were soaked with blood—his blood. He collapsed to the ground, terrified of what could happen next. Every breath he took felt more and more smothered, and caused new and more horrible pains in his chest. His body felt like it was on fire from sickening pain. He gagged.

Footsteps rushed towards him. A helper? A saviour? Or…

A hand…a woman’s hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him over, so that he now lay on his back. He gasped in new agony as the woman…was that…what? Dina? It was hard to see any more as Nigel could feel himself losing consciousness. Surely she would help him, call emergency services, flag down a policeman. 

“H…h…lp,” he mumbled, unable to say much more. He could feel his throat tighten. His chest burned and bled.

But Dina did not get help. Instead, she leaned over Nigel, placing her open mouth over his, without actually touching his lips, breathing in as he exhaled, over and over. Nigel’s skin crawled, not knowing why she was doing this rather than rushing to get help. Suddenly, Nigel could feel her hand on his chest, unbuttoning his robes from the top, just enough so she could…place her fingertips on the bloody wound. He inhaled sharply, tremulously, desiring nothing more than to get away from her. What did she want? Why did she look so curiously at the blood—Nigel’s blood—on her hand?

Everything was a silent jumble.

Nigel’s breathing became shallow and strained. He could feel his life draining from him…was it because of her? Was she sucking out his spirit like a Dementor? Or was it just blood loss?

And then she stood up. Perhaps she would now call emergency services and…but no, she didn’t. Dina drew a large pistol from the belt of her trousers or the pocket of her dress or…he didn’t see it properly. To Nigel’s horror, Dina pointed it right at his head. She cocked the pistol and took aim.

_Destination, deliberation, determination…_

Quick! Home or hospital? Home or hospital? Hospital! Of course. Nigel could only hope that he had enough ability to concentrate and get himself out of there. St. Mungo's!

BOOM!!!

A blinding flash of light…the smell of gunpowder…searing pain…

CRASH!!! Nigel tumbled out of thin air, onto the hard marble floor of St. Mungo's, banging his head, hard. It felt so cold, so refreshingly cold. Nigel struggled to his feet—why was it so dark all of a sudden? Where was everyone? He took a tenuous step, his chest exploding with new pain at each move, looking about frantically for anyone to help. But it was so dark, so bitterly cold now. His robes were wet with blood—Nigel could feel it inching down his body, his leg. Ginny wouldn’t like the mess. What about Tom?

A hand touched his arm. Nigel flinched. Who was that? He couldn’t see anything but blurred eyes and blue whirls of steam or light or...

Was he blind?

Was he dead?

“Come on, Nigel,” a woman’s voice said. “We got you.” The hand—now there were more, maybe six or so—led him along a long white corridor…so impossibly cold…but the pain was lessening now as the whiteness faded into a comfortable pillowy dark…

Nigel shivered as everything went black…

* * * * *

His mouth felt dry. He tried to swallow, but it was impossible. His chest ached horribly, especially when he tried to take a deep breath. But at least he didn’t feel so smothered any more. Nigel opened his tired eyes, looking up at the white face of Severus Snape.

“Nigel?” Snape asked, looking ashen and exhausted.

Nigel struggled to move into a more comfortable position, but new pain tore through him, making him wince.

“What the hell happened?” he whispered. “How long have I been here?”

“A few hours,” Snape replied. “About fifteen, to be precise.”

“But what happened?”

“You were shot in the back last night.”

The cold reality flooded Nigel’s mind, making him shudder. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the mental pictures of what had happened, but it was no good. He remembered everything, from the blast from the gun to the pungent smell of gunpowder to the bizarre actions of Dina.

“Where’s Ginny?” he asked, now frantic. “Does she know? Is she here?”

“I sent her upstairs with your parents…”

“My parents? They’re here? Where are the boys? Are they okay?”

“There was no way I was going to let you wake up to the sounds of moaning and hysterical weeping. They’re taking tea. Your children are with mine. Minerva is watching them today. She sends her regards, by the way.”

“Thank you, Severus.”

The door to Nigel’s private room opened, admitting Jude Rosen and Ron, dressed in his Law Enforcement uniform. Jude felt Nigel’s forehead and then bent over to look at the wound.

“Looks better,” he said cheerily. “How do you feel, Nigel?”

“Not good. Stiff.”

“How’s the pain?”

“It only hurts when I breathe.”

Rosen and Snape both frowned.

“Officer Weasley is here to take your statement,” Rosen said, indicating Ron, who hung back in the corner, near the window. “I’ll just leave you two alone.”

“Can Severus stay?” Nigel asked Ron.

“Sure, no problem.” Ron sat down at Nigel’s bedside and pulled out a Quick Quotes Quill and a notepad.

“Did you see Ginny?” Nigel asked.

“She’s pretty freaked out, actually,” Ron replied. “She was trying to be strong for the kids, but after they left, she sort of broke down. To be honest, mate, we weren’t sure whether you’d pull through. You lost a lot of blood last night. The bullet missed your heart by about a centimetre.”

Nigel kneaded his forehead. “Gods! I can’t bloody believe this! What’s getting me is that I didn’t see it coming. I should have sensed it, felt some presence, and I just didn’t.”

Ron gave him a sympathetic look. “You were distracted. You probably had a lot on your mind. Ginny told me your news, by the way. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. How are my parents?”

“Upset. Really bloody pissed off.”

“At me?”

“At whoever shot you. And at that Pink bloke. Bastard. He should never have written that stuff about you.”

“I really almost died?” Nigel asked. Snape looked away, looking even more ashen and grieved.

“They called in all the experts,” Ron explained, “the very best Healers around. They did a bit of complimentary medicine, you know, muggle stitches and whatnot, but they also did a lot of other procedures on you. They gave you that blood-replenishing potion, too. Actually, you had to have quite a lot of that since you lost so much blood.”

Nigel had a sudden, terrible thought. “The crime scene! What…”

“James Fowler and I retraced your whereabouts by magic,” Ron said. “We already analysed the crime scene. We even found the bullet. Louella Pierce wants us to work with Scotland Yard—that’s the big debate right now.”

“Gosh.” Nigel turned his tired eyes to the window and sighed. His chest still ached from the wound.

“So look, Nigel,” Ron continued, “you need to tell me everything you remember.”

“It all happened so fast,” Nigel recalled. “I was just leaving the Ministry—Severus and I just parted ways—and I decided to walk part of the way home.”

“That was foolish, Nigel,” Snape remarked bitterly. “What were you thinking?”

Nigel felt a stab of guilt. “I’m sorry, Severus,” he said glumly. “I guess I wasn’t thinking. I just needed to walk. Anyway, I was just enjoying the night air and looking up at the moon, and then BAM! It just happened.”

“Did you see who did it?” Ron asked.

“She shot me from behind, so no, I didn’t actually see her shoot me, but then I was on the ground, and she turned me over on my back and…” Nigel stopped. He felt a sob rising in his throat—it was all too awful, too terrifyingly real.

“It’s okay, mate,” Ron said. “Take your time. This is hard to talk about.”

Nigel nodded, steeling himself. “It’s just that she…Dina I mean…she did something really weird after she shot me.”

“Dina? You mean that woman Ginny told Hermione about?”

“Yeah.” Nigel swallowed hard. “I…she unbuttoned the top of my robes, see…and she sort of…touched me, the wound, I mean.”

Snape frowned. “She touched your blood?”

“Yeah.”

“What did she want with it?” Snape asked.

“I don’t know,” Nigel replied, barely whispering. He had horrible visions of what someone could potentially do with the blood of another, and he could only hope that Dina washed her hands the moment she returned to her coven.

“Stupid muggles,” Snape muttered angrily. “They have no idea what they’re messing with!”

“But that’s not all,” Nigel replied. “She sort of put her mouth over mine at one point. I thought for a moment that she was going to kiss me, but she didn’t. It was like she was taking in my breath or something, sort of like a Dementor’s Kiss. It creeped me out. When she pulled out her gun again, I must have disapparated. It’s all pretty fuzzy, actually.”

“Thank the gods you made it,” Snape breathed.

“And you ended up here?” Ron asked.

“I guess. I don’t really remember anything after that. I woke up in this bed, and that’s it.”

“This woman, you said her name was Dina?” Ron asked.

“Dina Florescu,” Nigel replied.

Snape raised his eyebrows. “Florescu? Curious.”

“You met her in the park, right?” Ron went on.

“A couple of times. But I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Nigel, do you have any idea why this woman would want to kill you?” Ron asked.

“I barely know her!” Nigel replied, frustrated and pained. “We talked about magic theory, sort of. She had some very odd notions of magic, and all I was trying to do was disabuse her of some of those myths.”

“Then perhaps she was acting on those myths,” Snape offered.

Nigel’s heart sank. “I’m such an idiot, Severus. Draco was right. I never should have said a word to that woman.”

“Is it possible that she’s been following you?” Ron asked. “Stalking you?”

“I suppose so,” Nigel replied. A stalker? The thought troubled him. If she really was stalking him, she’d know…

“So she might know where you work, where you live, and so on?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, I guess so. But I…I never saw her any other place.” Nigel threw a worried glance at Snape. “What does this mean?”

“It means you’re not safe at home, Nigel,” Ron replied. “We’ve made some arrangements for you and your family, until this woman is caught. But you cannot go home right now. Clearly, this Dina has been able to follow you in secret, and there’s no reason to think she’ll stop, especially since she didn’t kill you the first time. We need to be sure there’s not a second attempt, and we also need to be sure that Ginny and the kids are safe from her.”

“Where are we going?” Nigel asked, hating the idea of having to go into hiding.

“Malfoy Manor, of course,” Ron replied.


	7. The Witch-Hunter and the Muggle Cop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The mood at breakfast that morning was marked by grief and pain, both for Nigel and for Ginny. Nigel had known Marcus well, especially in the last three years. He had come to admire and respect Marcus as a talented healer and a good friend. To think that his death was related to what had happened to Nigel was unthinkable. But impossible? That he couldn’t say._
> 
> _Before breakfast was over, Ron had arrived at Malfoy Manor, in uniform, accompanied by a tall black man in muggle clothes—clearly, this was no family visit. The House Elf admitted Ron and his companion to the breakfast room, then served them a cup of coffee and some eggs and ham. The muggle looked at the House Elf with astonishment._

So many questions, so many details to recall. After a half hour of intense discussion with Ron, Nigel was exhausted. He was still in pain from the shooting, and he was desperate to see Ginny. Nigel worried about their new baby, hoping the stress of the situation didn’t cause Ginny any harm. He knew she could get pretty worked up pretty fast, and he prayed that this wasn’t too much for her to handle at a delicate time like this.

When she finally came in, flanked by Mr. and Mrs. Chaucer, all with red eyes and tear-stained faces, Nigel broke down. Ginny rushed to his side, showering his face with butterfly kisses.

“Thank the gods you’re alright!” she said. “I was so scared!”

“Are you okay?” Nigel asked, drying his eyes. “Is the baby alright?”

Ginny nodded. “I’m fine, baby. We’re fine!”

Nigel struggled to control his emotions, wanting to know more. “Who told you what happened? Who told you where I was?”

“Ron came and got us. Hermione went to your parents and brought them here,” Ginny explained, still sniffling. “No one knew how you were or if you’d be alright, and all we could do was just pray and hope and wait. Then Hermione went to Hogwarts with the boys, and also to get Severus. Minerva promised to have some Seventh Years look after them for us today.”

“Do the boys know what happened?” Nigel asked.

“Not really. Not fully. They know you got hurt, but not much more than that. I don’t want to scare them.”

Nigel sighed, but the pain of the injury made him gasp. “How’s George?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Hysterical. The poor little guy. You know how he worships you. But Freddy was very sweet. He promised to stay by George’s side and keep him happy.”

“What a great kid,” Nigel said. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. Freddy’ll take good care of them.”

“You don’t think the boys are in any danger, do you?” Mrs. Chaucer wondered.

Ginny’s eyes flashed furiously. “If that bitch thinks she can get at my children, I just might do an Unforgiveable on her! I don’t care if she is a muggle!”

“We don’t know what she’s after, not really,” Ron said. “Not yet anyway. It could be something personal about you, Nigel.”

“But what? Seriously, Ron, like I said before, our conversations never really got that personal. And I never led her to believe I had any feelings towards her at all!” On that, Nigel was resolute. “She was fascinated with death and with gaining magic power. She wanted to know all about immortality, but I really couldn’t tell her anything.”

“Maybe she got angry with you,” Ginny said.

“Maybe,” Nigel said. “But I don’t know about that. I just can’t imagine why she would. I was always nice to her, even when I was annoyed.”

“I think she believed she was stealing your powers,” Ron said. “Or maybe not stealing them, but sort of tapping into them. You said she took in your breath.”

Snape made a face. “Muggle rubbish!”

“She didn’t think so, Severus,” Nigel said. “I think Ron has a point.”

“But what does that mean about your blood?” Ron wondered. “You said she got your blood on her hands.”

“On her fingertips, though,” Nigel replied. “I can’t think it was enough for her to do anything much with, except maybe smell it.”

“Or taste it,” Snape said darkly. “This could get very nasty, I think, if we’ve got some muggle woman out there who thinks she can gain power like this.”

Nigel shuddered. So did Ginny.

“What do we do?” Ginny asked. “We don’t even know where she is or where she lives.”

“We’ll have to get Scotland Yard involved,” Ron replied. “Dean Thomas has a relative on the police force. A cousin, I think. I’ll find out who it is and bring him in on this.”

“Can he be trusted?” Ginny asked.

“I hope so,” Ron replied. “Dean comes from a good family, doesn’t he?”

Ginny nodded.

“And you’re sure he’s familiar with the wizarding world?” Snape asked.

“I would expect so, but I’ll check with Dean first,” Ron replied. “I just think that putting this woman through our own system wouldn’t quite work.”

“True,” Nigel said. He sighed, which again made him wince with pain.

* * * * *

The next day, once Jude Rosen was sure he felt better, Nigel moved back to Malfoy Manor—Ginny and Draco had already taken care of most of the packing and moving the previous evening, so all Nigel had to do was apparate there. This made Ginny a bit uneasy, and she worried that the stress of apparation might cause him more pain. Nigel had lost quite a lot of strength from the blood loss, and it would take a few days before he felt normal again. All Nigel could think about was getting out of that hospital bed and seeing his sons again. Even after just a couple of days apart from them, Nigel missed them terribly. He had grown used to their laughing and bickering and running about and was eager to get back into his old pattern of life.

Draco gave them Nigel’s old room back, which had formerly been Lucius and Narcissa’s grand bedroom. The boys moved into yet another room. Nigel had suggested that Freddy and Abraxas share a room.

“You can’t be serious, Chaucer,” Draco replied, laughing. “My son? SHARE? You must be joking.”

“Training him young, aren’t you, Malfoy?” Nigel replied, rolling his eyes. “You could fit about seven beds into that room, you know!”

“Exactly. That’s why it’s his room and only his. You can raise your kids in a one-room bungalow, but not I.”

As much as he missed their little flat in London, it was nice to be back at the spectacular Malfoy Manor. Nigel loved the rolling lawns, lush woods, sparkling lakes that dotted the expansive property. It gave Nigel a certain sense of perspective regarding Draco—surely, anyone who grew up on a property such as that would grow up with a tremendous sense of entitlement. How could he not? Life at Malfoy Manor was beyond elegant and refined—that was almost mundane. Nigel carried himself a little differently at Malfoy Manor, a little taller and prouder than when he was anywhere else.

But the boys just ran and played.

Abraxas Malfoy was a curious, almost unrealistically beautiful child. He had all the best features of both his parents—his mother’s eyes, his father’s brow, and the trademark Malfoy white blond hair—Nigel reckoned that the laws of nature saw to it that any Malfoy child would be blond, regardless of genetics. At four, Abraxas was quite tall for his age, much like his father had been. He had a way of carrying himself that nearly betrayed his age—like his father, Abraxas stood straight and proud, with shoulders squared and pointed chin high, looking down at the world with an imperious gaze. It was uncanny. Nigel always felt extra proud when Freddy would get Abraxas into a headlock and wrestle him to the ground until the little Malfoy would cry out in submission.

The Malfoys might have been prominent and powerful, but the Chaucers were strong-minded fighters.

And yet, Abraxas differed from his father in one important aspect. When Nigel first met Draco, he had found Draco to be a pompous, ridiculous bully, only interested in gaining power and belittling everyone else around him. To his credit, Abraxas was nothing like that. While he had his Malfoy moments, mostly to get something out of his over-indulgent father, Abraxas was generally generous and very friendly and open. Draco had taught his son to be diplomatic and to carry himself with a certain gravitas, which Abraxas did quite well, especially for a little boy. The Weasley-Chaucer boys brought out Abraxas’ wilder side, and Abraxas kept the Weasley-Chaucers from wrecking the place.

Sort of.

“How did you manage it, Nigel?” Draco asked their first evening back at Malfoy Manor. Greta had taken the children off to play after dessert, whilst Draco, Ginny, Nigel, Ron, Hermione and a very tanned and healthy-looking Harry retired to the library for coffee and brandy.

“Manage what?” Nigel replied.

“Keeping those savages of yours from destroying your entire place in that minivan you used to call home?” Draco said.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Nigel only laughed.

“I’m surprised Abraxas hasn’t gotten lost in this museum _you_ call a home, Malfoy,” he shot back.

Ginny sniggered.

“What’s a minivan?” Ron asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Ron!”

Everyone else laughed.

“So, Potter,” Draco said, “what sort of trouble are you dredging up these days? On the pull yet?”

“A bit,” Harry replied a little sourly. “I got a new job, though.”

“Great!” Ginny exclaimed. “Where?”

“Sweeping up at Fortescue’s?” Draco asked. Nigel laughed.

“Not quite, actually,” Harry replied. “Actually, I’m an Unspeakable.”

“Well we all knew you were unspeakable, Potter,” Draco shot back.

“You’re in a good mood, Malfoy,” Nigel laughed. “That’s great, Harry! How did you get in there?”

“That’s my question,” Ron said. “I never knew how anyone got one of those posts.”

“Actually, Kingsley got me in,” Harry replied. “All that travel and time off was really good for me. It’s the first time in my life when I was just on my own, with no worries. When I got back, I was ready to start working again, so I got in touch with Kingsley, and he got me this job.”

“That’s so great,” Hermione said happily. “Congratulations.”

“You were in a bit of a funk,” Nigel remembered. “Frankly, I was a bit worried about you.”

“I was worried, too. That’s why I went away. I did a bit of genealogy while I was gone, you know, found out a bit about my family—both sides,” Harry explained. “I wanted to know why my mother became a witch when there was no history of magic in the family. It was actually pretty fascinating. I learned that probably a hundred years or so back, one of my ancestors on my mother’s side married a wizard, and their child was a witch, but then her child was a Squib.”

“Sounds like my family,” Nigel replied. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Have you seen the Dursleys at all recently?” Hermione asked.

“Not in ages. I avoid Surrey at all costs, actually.”

“It would be really interesting if Dudley’s kids were wizards,” Nigel mused.

Harry and Ron laughed. “That would mean that Dudley would have to breed!” Harry crowed. “I don’t know if the world needs any more of that!”

After more talk and more brandy, Nigel grew very tired and excused himself to go to bed. Ginny accompanied him. They lay together under the thick, sumptuous duvet, listening to the crickets and frogs outside. Ginny smiled.

“Harry looked good,” Nigel noted. “He looked sort of happy. That was a nice change.”

“Yeah,” Ginny sighed, nuzzling his neck.

“Do you ever think about him, Ginny?”

“About Harry?”

“It’s okay if you do. I’m not jealous or anything.”

“I guess I wonder sometimes,” she confessed. “You know, if it had worked out between us and I’d married him. But he was right to break it off with me back at school. He could see pretty clearly that we were never going to work. He just had too much on his shoulders, you know? It would have been unfair to both of us. We tried, you know, after it was all over with Voldemort, but we had both changed too much. He has a lot of things to work out for himself.”

“I suppose this job will be good for him, then,” Nigel said. “Pondering the deeper mysteries of life and existence. I hope it makes him happy.”

She kissed his lips. “Nigel, I was so scared for you. Severus actually kicked me out of your hospital room, I was so hysterical.”

“He told me.” Nigel ran his fingers over the bandages on his chest, wincing a little. “I’m nervous about this, Ginny. I don’t think she’s going to stop at this one attempt. What if she goes after the kids? Or you?”

“But she doesn’t know where Malfoy Manor is.”

“No, but she just might know where St. Mungo's is.”

“But she doesn’t know what St. Mungo's is, right?”

“I hope not.”

* * * * *

**TRAGEDY AT ST. MUNGO’S  
 _Healer found in nearby park, shot dead_**

by Gideon Wainrwight  
Staff Writer

Only five days after the shooting of Healer Nigel Weasley-Chaucer, 26, three blocks from the Ministry of Magic, another Healer, Marcus Belby, 27, was gunned down outside St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Sources say that Belby, who worked at a special residence with former Incurables (founded by Weasley-Chaucer), had returned to St. Mungo's for a special meeting with a patient’s family. He left the hospital at 10:30, hoping to make the quick walk back to the residence.

Tragically, Belby never made it to his destination. His body was found by a muggle dog-walker early the next morning, in a dark corner of a nearby park. According to Officer Ronald Weasley, Belby’s body had been dragged from where he was shot. A mysterious puncture wound was also found on Belby’s left arm, making the authorities wonder just what the shooting was about and why a muggle would want to harm a wizard.

Belby leaves behind his fiancé, a muggle called Jonathon Billings. The couple shared a flat in Soho for the last two years, and hoped to marry this summer. Billings was unavailable for comment, but the muggle police are looking for any connection between him and the muggle woman alleged to have shot Weasley-Chaucer. They are also looking into the possibility of this being an anti-gay hate crime…

“NIGEL!” Ginny shrieked, still gripping the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_.

Nigel rushed down the staircase to see what was wrong. Ginny showed him the article. Nigel nearly dropped the paper as he read.

“Oh my gods, no! Marcus?” It was unbelievable! Marcus Belby, dead? Gunned down in cold blood? Unthinkable! “I don’t get it! Who would do this to him? Marcus was about the most harmless, kindest person I know! This is awful! Poor Jon! He must be devastated!”

“Nigel, could this be related to what happened to you?” Ginny asked.

Nigel’s heart sank even farther. He couldn’t utter a single word—he didn’t want to know the answer to that, though he suspected.

“I don’t believe this,” he murmured. He lost his appetite. “It can’t be. No!”

The mood at breakfast that morning was marked by grief and pain, both for Nigel and for Ginny. Nigel had known Marcus well, especially in the last three years. He had come to admire and respect Marcus as a talented healer and a good friend. To think that his death was related to what had happened to Nigel was unthinkable. But impossible? That he couldn’t say.

Before breakfast was over, Ron had arrived at Malfoy Manor, in uniform, accompanied by a tall black man in muggle clothes—clearly, this was no family visit. The House Elf admitted Ron and his companion to the breakfast room, then served them a cup of coffee and some eggs and ham. The muggle looked at the House Elf with astonishment.

“This is D.C. Brian Meadows, everyone,” Ron said, introducing the muggle. “Dean’s cousin? The cop from Scotland Yard?”

“Hi,” Brian said, half-waving awkwardly at everyone.

“Sit down,” Draco said, standing up to shake Brian’s hand. “Help yourself to breakfast. Don’t worry, it’s the same stuff you muggles eat. Nothing strange.”

“Thanks, uh?” Brian replied, suddenly realising he knew no one’s names.

“Oh! Draco Malfoy,” Draco replied. “And this is Ginny—she used to date Dean—and that’s Nigel, the bloke who vanished on telly.”

“I thought I recognised you,” Brian said to Nigel. “Ron tells me you were shot a few days ago.”

“I was.”

“You’re a fast healer. You feeling okay?”

“Better. Mostly just weak from loss of blood,” Nigel replied.

“What does D.C. stand for?” Ginny asked.

“Detective Constable,” Brian replied. “I’m working towards being Detective Sergeant soon.” He took out a notebook and a pen—something that Draco had never seen before. “You told Ron that the person you believe shot you is called Dina Florescu? What do you know about her?”

“Not much,” Nigel said. “I know she lives in a coven in Soho, or at least that’s what she said. She told me they lived in Cornwall before coming to London three years ago. Oh, and she dated some bloke called Dieter.”

“German?” Ron asked.

“Maybe,” Nigel said. “Maybe British with a German name? Maybe a figment of her imagination.”

“Where did you first meet this woman?” Brian asked.

“At St. Paul’s Cathedral. I have no idea how she knew I was there.”

“Could she have followed you?” Ron asked.

“Possibly. Or it could have been a coincidence. She said she saw me apparate.”

Both Ginny and Draco frowned at him.

“You apparated in public?” Ginny snapped. “You never mentioned that before, Nigel. Have you completely lost your head?”

“I would have gone to services the normal way, but there was a throng of people outside our building!” Nigel shot back. “I was late! I didn’t have any other way of getting there!”

“You could have skipped that day,” Draco pointed out.

Nigel shook his head. “I don’t like missing. I had a lot on my heart that day.”

“The day you were shot,” Ron started, “how were you dressed? In muggle attire?”

“In my Healer robes. I was just coming from a meeting at the Ministry,” Nigel replied. And then, it dawned on him. “Oh my gods, Marcus! He was dressed the same way!”

“But Marcus looked nothing like you, Nigel,” Ginny pointed out. “I doubt she mistook him for you, even in the dark!”

“But she must have known he was a wizard based on how he was dressed,” Ron said.

“Maybe she thought he could lead her to you or something,” Draco thought. “Sort of like a hostage situation. Maybe it just went terribly wrong and Belby ended up getting shot.”

“I guess that’s possible,” Ron said. “I mean, you did disapparate on her, I mean, maybe she wanted to finish the job, but when Belby didn’t know where you were, she just shot him.”

“That doesn’t explain the puncture wound in his arm,” Ginny said.

“And if she was so intent on finding you, Nigel, I don’t think she would have needed this other man do to it,” Brian reasoned. “After all, I think we can assume she was stalking you. No, I believe she was setting her sites on someone new.”

A wave of horror filled Nigel’s mind just then—he knew Brian had to be right on this, sickening as it was to think about. “So she shot him because he was a wizard?” It suddenly made sense to him. “But if she opened fire on him because of that, then…who’s to say she won’t attack someone else who is dressed in wizard’s robes?”

Ginny jumped up. “Oh my gods, Nigel! Look at us! We all dress in robes! All of us!” She looked over at an equally horrified Ron. “What does this mean? Are we all targets of this woman?”

“London is a big place,” Brian said, trying to sound reassuring.

“Ginny is right,” Draco said. “She managed to shoot two wizards in the space of five days! All she has to do is go back to the same place and look for someone else dressed in robes, male or female! What if there are kids going to visit relatives at St. Mungo’s? Will she shoot them, too? Does this bitch even care?”

“Returning to the exact same place is highly unlikely,” Brian said. “She would be too conspicuous there. There are police all over that spot right now, both yours and ours, investigating the crime.”

“So the muggle police are involved?” Nigel asked, surprised.

“Of course,” Brian replied. “A young man was murdered in cold blood. We don’t care if he was a wizard or not. This man was a British subject and was simply minding his own business. For security reasons, however, I’m keeping his wizard identity to myself. I don’t want people thinking it’s open season on you people. One witch-hunter is more than enough.”

Nigel spent the rest of the week resting and getting his strength back. Ginny returned to work, though she was able to do most of her writing at Malfoy Manor. Nigel and Draco would sit out by the pond, fishing and talking and watching the kids—or watch Greta watch the kids. George wanted to tackle his father in delight and relief, but Freddy and Abraxas put a quick stop to that.

“He’s got a sore in his chest,” Freddy told his younger brother sharply. “Mummy says we’re not allowed to touch him yet.”

George pouted. “Daddy, you’re not going to die, are you?”

“Of course not, George,” Nigel replied.

Draco smirked. “Not today, anyway.”

George gasped, clapping his muddy hands to his mouth.

“Draco!” Nigel snapped. “George, he was just kidding. Uncle Draco likes to make stupid jokes sometimes. Don’t worry about Daddy, alright?”

* * * * *

Back to work at long last! There was so much to do, especially in the wake of Marcus Belby’s death—his patients needed attention and reassurance. Belby’s murder had caused much distress in the residence, and it took Nigel and the rest of the staff quite some time to make the patients feel safe and to give them space to grieve properly. They had loved Healer Belby and some were nearly inconsolable at his loss, especially since there seemed to be no reason for his murder. Belby’s murder and Nigel’s own shooting didn’t settle well at St. Mungo's, either. When news came out that both Nigel and Belby were dressed the same way at the time they were shot, most Healers wondered whether they should abandon their uniforms and dress as muggles until the shooter was arrested. This issue caused a heated debate, ending only when Jude Rosen decided that for the time being, each Healer could choose how to dress, at least arriving and departing from the hospital. During work hours, however, they were to remain dressed as Healers.

Nigel thought that sounded fair, but others weren’t so sure. Furthermore, Nigel couldn’t help but detect a certain amount of blame—perhaps he deserved it, or perhaps it was all in his mind. Nonetheless, there was a new sort of tension Nigel experienced during his first days back at work. Some people looked at him with eyes of sympathy, but not everyone. One Healer, Amir Kharloubian, expressed his doubts to more than one person. When word of this gossip got back to Nigel, he was furious.

“Don’t worry about Kharloubian,” Hugh Smedley told him one afternoon at a late lunch. “You two never got along.”

Nigel scowled. “I know. I just wish he’d keep his stupid mouth shut about what he doesn’t know.”

“He’s jealous of you. You got all that power and attention straight out of school,” Hugh said. “Prats like Kharloubian got their noses out of joint over it. He’s too stupid and petty to see the amazing stuff you accomplished for the wizarding world. He’s got the problem, not you.”

That should have worked. Nigel should have felt better after that little pep talk, but mid week, something happened that made Nigel feel even worse.

**TWO WITCHES DEAD—GUNNED DOWN BY MUGGLE  
 _Only feet from Belby shooting_**

by Gideon Wainwright  
Staff Writer

Just as the wizarding world is still reeling from the murder of Marcus Belby and the shooting of Nigel Weasley-Chaucer, two more bodies of dead witches were discovered this morning in the same park where Belby was found.

Pomponia Vera, 46, and Mariah Platt, 54, were both found shot to death and dumped in different corners of the same park. Like Marcus Belby, both witches had the same mysterious puncture wound in their left arm, leaving the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at a loss. Furthermore, Officer Ronald Weasley revealed to the _Prophet_ that both women, like Belby, were found on their backs, mouths open. Stories of strange muggle rituals have been mentioned, but there is no proof of any occult activity so far. However, further investigation still remains.

Vera, an librarian at the Wizarding National Archives, was at St. Mungo's to visit her son, who suffers from spattergroit. Friends and family remember her as a vivacious, energetic woman always ready with a laugh and a quick joke. She leaves behind five children, two of whom are still at school. Platt recently moved to Britain from the United States, following her new husband and his children. She had just gotten a job at Twillfit and Tattings as a bookkeeper, and was scheduled to start work the following Monday morning. Platt had gone to St. Mungo's for a routine physical examination.

Sources point to an article about the wizarding world, published in a muggle tabloid, _The Weekly Observatory_ , just a few weeks ago. The article, written by a Reginald Pink, included an interview with Nigel Weasley-Chaucer, who allegedly spoke at some length about magic and magical theory. It is not known what Weasley-Chaucer’s intentions were, but sources speculate that he may have been duped by this muggle into making explicit statements.

This was getting bad. Very bad.


	8. The Kiss of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Draco cast his grey eyes down, staring intently at his shoes. “Listen, mate, it’s just…I don’t know, I mean…I’ve never been good at expressing…love. Never got much practice I suppose. Father was never much into the whole affection thing.”_
> 
> _“That’s what Blaise used to say about you.”_
> 
> _“Yeah, well he’d know.” Draco bit his lip and stepped back. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out like that. I’ve never actually done that before.”_

Nestled in the woods near Grasmere, the Patil Academy for Young Witches and Wizards stood out like a shining beacon, a place of peace and hope. From the outside it looked like a cozy cottage, with flowerboxes in the windows and a wishing well in the front garden. A cobbled path led from the lane up to the front door, leading inside the new school.

Top of the line, state of the art—this school had every resource imaginable, both wizard and muggle. In one small room was a computer lab, for example, and in another room was a chest filled with little brooms and a kiddie Quidditch set. All the toys had some educational purpose, as did every picture and painting on the walls.

Ginny and Nigel, along with the other parents, couldn’t help but gape in sheer awe of this lovely place. Draco, on the other hand, was only mildly impressed, though he glanced as intently as everyone else through each and every room in the school. Padma and Parvati lead the groups of parents on a tour through the school while two of the teachers led the children in a series of games, inside and outside. Freddy even got to ride on one of the broomsticks, which made him very excited.

The open house couldn’t have come at a better time. Since the deaths of Pomponia Vera and Mariah Platt, three more had been killed, including a Hogwarts student visiting her mother in London for the week-end. All were shot, all left on their backs, all had the same puncture wound in their left arms. Things were out of control, in spite of the best efforts of the Law Enforcement Office and Scotland Yard. Dina was unstoppable, elusive, utterly mysterious. Perhaps she really was using magic. Maybe this muggle magic wasn’t just a myth after all. Or maybe it was just that Dina was clever enough to remain ten steps ahead of the authorities.

But Nigel didn’t want to hear about witch-hunters today. He wanted to look at this beautiful school with his wife and anticipate his own children, including George, attend. Parents came from all over Britain and Ireland—one couple came from France, too. They gawked and asked questions and wanted to know about financing and books and curriculum and standards. Nigel couldn’t have been happier. And then, a Mr. Rufus Burbage from Bristol had to go and spoil it.

“Too bad we can’t wear our robes today,” he said loudly to his plump wife, who dressed in an awful muggle dress covered with pink flowers.

She snarled and threw a catty glance over at Ginny. “I guess some people don’t know when to keep their big mouths shut!” she said to her husband, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Nigel gritted his teeth and motioned for Ginny to come with him to the next room. But the Burbages followed.

“Don’t we have secrecy laws any more?” Mr. Burbage wondered loudly.

“They used to throw offenders into Azkaban,” the missus replied, equally loudly.

“That’s not true,” Ginny whispered into Nigel’s ear. “Let’s go.” She pulled Nigel by the arm and led him to the next room, but again, the Burbages followed.

“I hope the Patils are discriminating about whose children they let in here,” the missus drawled. She started to remind Nigel of Pansy at her very worst. He suddenly wanted to slap her stupid.

“I hope they train the children to be discreet,” Mr. Burbage replied. “But I think some families are too dangerous to trust, don’t you?”

The missus grinned wickedly. “Well, they say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Like father, like sons, right?”

That was enough for Nigel. Against his better judgement, he let go of Ginny’s firm grip on his arm and strolled casually over to the Burbages. He eyed Mr. Burbage carefully—the man was quite large, very imposing. Nigel felt fairly certain this man could throw a pretty mean punch. But…

“Excuse me,” he said politely. “Do we need to talk?”

Mrs. Burbage feigned confusion for a moment—but Nigel wasn’t buying it. “I’m sorry, but do we know you, young man?” Her saccharine, sycophantic voice suddenly reminded Nigel of Dolores Umbridge.

Not know him? Were they kidding? Nigel was one of the most famous faces in the wizarding world, and the topic of much conversation ever since his shooting. He took a deep breath and stuck out his hand.

“Nigel Weasley-Chaucer, ma’am,” he said. “I’m a Healer. And you are?”

Mr. Burbage introduced himself. “And this is my wife, Ursula.”

Ursula. Figures.

“Forgive me, Rufus and Ursula,” Nigel went on, “but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation about me and my family.”

Ursula tittered annoyingly. “And what makes you think we were talking about you, my dear?”

My dear? Was she kidding? “I think we both know you were talking about me,” Nigel said, his jaw tight.

“And is that because of your massive ego,” Ursula asked acerbically, “or is it because your poor judgement and your big mouth has gotten six people killed?”

Before Nigel could reply, Ginny, Draco and a recently arrived Severus Snape stormed over to the rescue. Snape and Draco gripped Nigel by the shoulders and pulled him away.

“Come on, Chaucer,” Draco said haughtily. “You don’t owe anything to these vermin.”

“Vermin?” Rufus growled. “And what are you, Mr. Malfoy, but a murderer and a traitor?”

Draco blanched at the accusation, but before he could fire back, Nigel had freed himself from Snape’s grip and stormed over to them, eyes flashing furiously. “YOU, sir, are out of line,” he hissed, putting a finger in Rufus’ big face.

“Nigel,” Snape warned.

“No!” Nigel shot back. “He comes in here and gossips at the top of his voice, and then pretends to be innocent? And this piece of rubbish has the nerve to tell off Draco?”

“Nigel!” Snape warned again. “Enough. Everyone is staring.”

He was right. Nigel looked about the children’s playroom, with blocks on the floor and fingerpaintings on the walls. He blushed.

“I’m sorry, Severus. I’m sorry, Ginny,” Nigel said sheepishly. “You’re right, Draco, they’re not worth it. I’ll just go outside.”

Thoroughly embarrassed, Nigel walked away, head down, not making eye contact with any of the still staring parents in the room. Outside, Nigel sat on a bench to watch the children play tag. There were quite a lot of them, at least forty. Freddy ran and played with the other boys and girls, and so did George, which made Nigel particularly happy. He could smell the honeysuckle as he sat there watching and calming himself down from the confrontation with the Burbages. Nigel hoped the outburst wouldn’t prevent his sons from attending the school. George spotted him from a distance and waved. Nigel smiled and waved back.

After a while, Ginny came outside, along with Draco, Snape and Allegra. Nigel could see that Allegra was fairly far along in her new pregnancy—at least four months. That made him very happy.

“I blew it,” he said to Ginny.

“You didn’t blow it,” she replied. “Actually, the Burbages blew it.”

Draco chuckled. “Tell them what you saw, Professor.”

“I used a bit of Legilimency after you went outside to cool off,” Snape said silkily. “Miss Patil and Mrs. Finnegan were not impressed by the Burbages, nor were they impressed by their daughter. Apparently she bit another girl whilst the children were playing tag. I doubt you will see them again, Nigel.”

Nigel smiled and nodded, but soon, his face fell. “But what they said, they’re not the only ones who think that. A lot of people think that, too.”

“And so what?” Snape said. “Since when were you ever driven by public opinion, Chaucer?”

“It’s not that,” Nigel replied. “It’s just that…I sort of see why they think it.”

Snape sighed. “Nigel, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Miss Florescu put you into a difficult situation, and you actually handled it very well. A lot people would have revealed a lot more than you ever did.”

“He didn’t reveal anything,” Ginny said angrily.

Nigel shook his head. “Maybe I did. I could have just walked away from Pink, and I didn’t. I could have lied or told him off, but I didn’t. I’m too nice.”

“You are,” Draco agreed. “But I agree with Professor Snape. You handled it really well.”

“And six people are dead now.” Nigel stood up and walked towards the playground, alone.

* * * * *

Another witch dead, a wizard near death at St. Mungo's, both shot. In the wake of so many shootings and deaths, Nigel was called to the Ministry by Louella Pierce, head of the Law Enforcement Office. While Nigel respected Pierce’s professionalism and cleverness, the last thing he ever wanted to do again was to speak to her—the last time he had to deal with Louella Pierce, Nigel had been accused of murdering his supervisor at St. Mungo’s. This time would be different…he hoped.

Pierce and Nigel were joined by Ron, Brian Meadows and James Fowler, Ron’s commanding officer. Arthur Weasley joined them, too, at Nigel’s request. Nigel sensed trouble.

“D.C. Meadows tells me that muggle authorities have discovered the source of the puncture wound,” Pierce began.

“Yes,” Brian said, “the medical examiner says that the killer used a syringe to extract blood.”

“Do you know why she would want to extract blood from these victims?” Pierce asked.

Nigel shook his head, horrified. “I…I really don’t know. I remember that when we talked, she had some idea about magic in the blood. She must have gotten that from Pink’s article.”

“We figured as much,” Brian said.

“But I don’t know what she thought she would do with it,” Nigel continued. “I guess she must think she’s really getting magical power from it. But we know she’s not, right?”

“Of course she’s not,” Pierce said.

“But if she thinks she is,” Ron said, “then she’ll keep killing witches and wizards to get more blood.”

Nigel felt ill. “This is sick, I mean, what would she do with it? Some ritual or muggle potion or something? Maybe she thinks she’s a vampire.”

“Maybe she is a vampire,” Ron suggested.

“She’s not a vampire!” Nigel snapped. “I think she’s sick in the head. She must be! No normal person would do something like this!”

“We spoke to the coven,” Brian said, “and they haven’t seen her in three months. We also found this Dieter fellow. He said she tried to kill him so he got the hell away from her.”

“So she’s deranged?” Arthur asked. “I’ve spoken to the Minister for Magic about this, and we decided to give this top priority. In fact, we’re having Aurors join you in your investigation, to find this woman faster.”

“They won’t be able to trace her by magic,” Nigel said.

“Say,” Ron suddenly said. “Were the victims found with their wands?”

Pierce blanched. “I don’t know. Each body was inventoried. I’ll have to check.”

“Hey,” Nigel said, “if she took them, we can trace her whereabouts via the wands. We can trace their magic, especially if she tries to use them.”

“They won’t work for her,” Ron pointed out with a laugh. “You can’t wield a wand if you’re a muggle.”

“No, but they can send off just enough magic to make them detectable. Isn’t that right, Arthur?” Nigel asked.

“Oh, I think so,” Arthur replied. “I hope so. Just to be safe, we’ll put the Trace on them. That might make it a bit easier to locate them, and therefore, her.”

* * * * *

**A SERIAL KILLER AMONGST US!  
 _Who is to blame? A commentary_**

by Gideon Wainwright  
Staff Writer

In the wake of losing a total of ten witches and wizards to a crazed muggle murderer, many in the wizarding community are left to ask who is at fault. Is it the muggle herself, the actual perpetrator of these terrible crimes, or is that too simple? Is it the Ministry’s poor handling of the situation and their failure to apprehend this murderer, in spite of her being a mere muggle? Or is it also the fault of a reckless wizard who spoke out of turn without regard to what damage his words might bring?

Granted, certain hands were forced by the actions of Geoffrey Taylor several years ago, however, Taylor is in Azkaban, and such dangers are a thing of the distant past. So why should all this come back to haunt us now? Is it fair to ordinary witches and wizards who are just trying to get through the day? Why should they lose their loved ones, merely because someone couldn’t control his mouth?

When all of this is finally over and the muggle is arrested and prosecuted, we must look to all parties that had a hand in this disaster, and make them all accountable for what they did or didn’t do, or say, or reveal without regard to anyone other than themselves…

“They’re really flaying you alive in the _Prophet_ , aren’t they, Chaucer?” Draco sat with the morning paper in the solarium. He scowled and turned the page.

Nigel sat stiff as a board on his chair, only able to stare with blank fury into the dregs of his cereal bowl.

“I think it’s wrong for them to put this on you, I mean, you’re not a bloody psychic or anything,” Draco continued. “You had no way of knowing she’d go off on this rampage. Well, I hope this all gets cleared up before there’s some sort of angry mob out to hang you.”

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Nigel uttered through clenched teeth. “That really helps.”

“I think I’ll write a letter to the editor,” Draco declared, conjuring parchment, quill and ink. “How shall I start? _Dear assholes_ …”

“Spare me your charity, Malfoy,” Nigel said, rolling his eyes. “You’ll just make it worse.”

Draco frowned. “Well I think they deserve to catch hell for printing this shit.” He took another piece of parchment and scribbled something on it.

“Seriously, Draco,” Nigel warned. “Please don’t.”

“I’m not doing what you’re thinking. Just mind your own business. Go make a potion or something useful. Go to work. Earn your keep.” Draco tied the parchment to the leg of his eagle owl and sent it off.

“What did you just do?” Nigel asked, exasperated.

“Won you support. Just trust me, alright?”

Trust? Was that possible any more? It seemed that everywhere Nigel went, people threw him fierce looks, as if he were the criminal, not Dina. As Nigel walked the corridors of St. Mungo's that day, just trying to get his work done, he found that some of his colleagues and even some of the patients didn’t want to have anything to do with him. One patient even told him as much in the late morning.

“Don’t touch me!” she cried, flinching away from him.

OK, so she was an incurable with an extremely disabling emotional disturbance, but Nigel knew the reason for her fear—like most others, she had either read Wainwright’s editorial or heard some exaggerated form of it from a visitor or another Healer. Even Jude Rosen seemed a bit distant towards him. Nigel mourned.

At lunch in the cafeteria, the worker gave Nigel the smallest ham sandwich he had ever seen. His coffee was cold, too, and somehow, they conveniently ran out of sugar just when he arrived. Hugh was making house calls that day, so there was no one left who would have lunch with him. Nigel was tempted to apparate home for lunch, just to sit with some friendly people, but that was impossible. He only had about twenty minutes to eat before he went to make a quick visit to Frank Longbottom, and then was off to the Potions Council to check on the Shrinking Solution they were currently developing.

It was bad enough being a local pariah at work or at Diagon Alley, but entering into the Ministry was an entirely new and uncomfortable experience. The Ministry should have been friendly territory—Nigel was on good terms with most Ministry officials—so when he received the same icy greeting as he got everywhere else, his heart sank just a little more. Arthur and Kingsley were off on some diplomatic meeting in Germany that day, and Hermione was busy in her office with stacks of work. Harry was…well, wherever Unspeakables were—Nigel had no idea. All there was for Nigel was the little cauldron of potion, brewed two days ago, ready to be checked.

The potion looked pretty good—clear and watery, with just a slight green tinge to it. He placed a drop of it onto a quill—it shank to the size of a toothpick. Nigel smiled.

“At least something’s going right today,” he grumbled, carefully decanting the finished potion into a glass bottle, which he then labeled and set on the counter. Nigel jotted down a few notes on the behaviour, look, consistency and smell of the potion for the rest of the committee to review, and put the shrunken quill into a little bag, which he set next to the bottle.

No one said good-bye to him as he left the Ministry and returned to St. Mungo's, alone.

That night, Ginny tried to give him some helpful words, but it was no good. Nigel couldn’t help but agree with the article in some part. Had he kept his mouth shut, had he walked away. So many regrets, but no way of mending things. What was done was done. At least that’s what Nigel kept telling himself, hoping he would eventually believe it.

The very next day, however, Draco’s word about trust came true. At Draco’s urging, Nigel opened up the _Daily Prophet_. 

“And what am I looking for this time?” Nigel asked bitterly. “More murders? Shall I peruse the obituaries?”

“Just shut up and do what I tell you, Chaucer,” Draco ordered. “Keep turning the pages.”

Nigel sighed and turned the page, then another, then another. Another. Wait…no, another page. One more. OK, here.

“Take a look at that,” Draco said, pointing to the _Letters to the Editor_ section. Nigel read.

_Dear Editor,  
Shame on you for printing such defamatory comments about a true wizarding hero. If it weren’t for the efforts of Nigel Chaucer, we would no longer have a wizarding world. It’s time you people remember that, and remember to whom you owe your loyalties._

_H. Granger_

_Editor,  
Maybe instead of slamming Nigel Chaucer in your articles, you should be out there investigating the muggle who’s murdering us and helping to find her. Get a life!_

_Lee Jordan_

_Dear Editors,  
For years, I put up with the journalistic slime you people call a newspaper, but after I read Wainwright’s screed against Nigel Chaucer, I had enough. It’s bad enough that you published the ravings of that Rita Skeeter woman for way too many years, but this nonsense against Chaucer was beyond the pale. This is an all-time journalistic low, even for this publication. Get back to printing the news, not slandering the people that have actually made a positive difference in our community._

_Up yours,  
Ernie Macmillan_

Nigel laughed at that one.

 

_Dear Editors,  
Nigel Weasley-Chaucer is one of the most honourable men I have ever known, and I also consider him to be a personal friend. He brought dignity and peace to Hogwarts and to the wizarding world, and to see him put down so terribly by Mr. Wainwright hurts me very much. Whatever Mr. Chaucer may have said to the muggles, he never acted with selfishness or recklessness. That is not the man I know. Your readers deserve to know that you have slandered a good family man and one of the great wizard geniuses of our time._

_Sincerely,  
Padma Patil  
Director, The Patil Academy_

 

And finally…

_Editors,  
Nigel Weasley-Chaucer and I may not be the best of friends, but the way you wrote about him really misrepresented the sort of person I know him to be. He and I have different ways of thinking and doing things, but I have always respected his brilliance and his dedication to our profession and to our people._

_Your article made him as guilty as the muggle who is doing all these crimes, and I object to that. Healer Chaucer is no more responsible for these crimes than I am, or anyone other than this muggle. If you do not print a retraction, I will have no choice but to cancel my subscription—oh yes, and I will see to it that all my friends and all my patients follow suit._

_Yours truly,  
Healer Amir Kharloubian_

 

Nigel couldn’t believe his eyes. “Kharloubian?” he exclaimed. “The man who never had a good word to say to me, ever? Amazing. And this is your doing, Malfoy?”

Draco shrugged. “Are you familiar with chain letters, Chaucer?”

“I thought those were superstitious?”

“This one was different. I simply wrote to Granger…that is, Mrs. Ronald Weasley, and asked her to spread the word. People took it from there.”

Nigel read the letters again. “This is great, Draco. Thanks.” A wave of relief washed through him, uplifting his heart and soul. Nigel turned gratefully towards his friend and wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. “You’re a good friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes.”

But suddenly, Draco did something entirely unexpected. They stood so close, wrapped up in a true moment of deep friendship, and then, Draco closed his eyes, leaned forward and kissed Nigel very softly, though briefly, on the lips. The feeling was so strange to Nigel—he wanted it to seem entirely inappropriate, and yet, he couldn’t. In a sense, Nigel knew what it was. There was a sincerity, even an innocence in the kiss, and so, Nigel let it happen.

“OK, what was that?” Nigel asked when Draco pulled away.

Draco grinned. “I’ve wanted to do that for ten years now,” he said, laughing.

Nigel eyed his friend carefully. “Why?”

“Don’t panic, Chaucer, I don’t want to shag you or anything. That’s what women are for.” Draco chuckled at his own joke, but then, he grew serious, even grave. He cast his grey eyes down, staring intently at his shoes. “Listen, mate, it’s just…I don’t know, I mean…I’ve never been good at expressing…love. Never got much practice I suppose. Father was never much into the whole affection thing.”

“That’s what Blaise used to say about you.”

“Yeah, well he’d know.” Draco bit his lip and stepped back. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out like that. I’ve never actually done that before.”

“What do you mean? You freak me out all the time,” Nigel joked.

“No, I mean, I’ve never…you know…”

“Kissed a bloke before?”

Draco blushed. “It’ll never happen again, so don’t worry.”

Nigel laughed. “It’s okay, Draco. I think I knew what you meant by it. I mean, it’s not exactly what I would have done to show friendship or anything…”

“I guess that was a bit more than a handshake, wasn’t it?”

“It’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in days, actually,” Nigel admitted. “It’s been shit walking around like the local leper. You gave me a kiss of life. You restored me, mate, so thanks.”

“OK, well just leave it at that then,” Draco said, stepping back a bit further. “I don’t want to get a reputation as Chaucer’s bitch or anything.”

Nigel smirked. “Way to go, mate. Take a tender moment and blow it to shit!”

That night as he climbed into bed with Ginny, Nigel couldn’t help but smile. Admittedly, the thought of his best friend kissing him was very strange to Nigel. He and Draco had been extremely close for years, knew each other inside and out—maybe that’s what made it alright. Nigel knew Draco well enough to know that this wasn’t some untold sexual desire. That simple act of genuine affection, in fact, touched Nigel more deeply than he realised until then. Draco had taken quite a risk in doing such a thing. After all, he had always prided himself on his macho veneer, enjoyed his role as the quintessential Alpha male. To make himself so vulnerable, and before another man…that took real guts, Nigel reasoned.

Nigel slept like a baby.


	9. Black Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“This is very dark stuff she’s messing with, Nigel,” Snape said. “If she’s dealing with blood potions, there’s no good thing that can come from it. She may very well be trafficking in dark spirits.”_
> 
> _“You mean demons?” Ron asked, incredulous. He turned a little pale in the face._
> 
> _“Precisely, Officer Weasley,” Snape replied._
> 
> _“You mean Black Magic?” Nigel asked._
> 
> _“Absolutely,” Snape said. “This is just as bad as anything Lord Voldemort did. Dark spirits are unknown entities, and therefore extremely dangerous. They are far more powerful than any of us, and have the ability to manipulate the mind in terrifying ways.”_
> 
> _“Worse than the Imperius Curse?” Ron asked._
> 
> _“Far worse,” Snape replied._

The next few days brought more grim news and still no answers. Two more wizards were murdered, this time not far from the Ministry, near the place where Nigel was attacked. Same puncture marks on the arm, same M.O.

Together, Nigel and Ron apparated to Hogwarts to speak to Severus Snape, hoping he could shed some light on what Dina might be up to with wizard blood. When they arrived, however, they were greeted by a very flustered Minerva McGonagall.

“Are you alright, Professor?” Ron asked. They stood in the Entrance Hall, watching a large group of Fourth Years pass by, going to their next lessons. McGonagall straightened her hat and pushed some wisps of hair out of her eyes.

“Oh yes. I have just been chasing a four year-old all morning,” she replied, smoothing her robes.

Nigel laughed. “Aurora?”

“You know, I never felt old until now. I can’t keep up with the child! Incidentally, boys, be sure to watch the _Prophet_ for an upcoming announcement regarding this place.”

“Are you accepting Squibs now?” Nigel asked, half-joking.

McGonagall shrugged slightly. “That is up to the Governors, not to the Head. Oh, that reminds me, you will find Professor Snape in his office in about an hour, after the lesson. And by the way, just so you know, his wife isn’t well today.”

Nigel raised his eyebrows in shock. Wife? “Hang on, Minerva. They got married?”

“Last week. Madame Pomfrey conducted the ritual. It was quite lovely. Just a simple ceremony out by the lake.”

“And they didn’t invite me?” Nigel complained. How could Snape not invite him?

“They invited no one,” she replied. “I was there as a witness, but they didn’t want anyone else there. Not even you, I’m afraid.”

Nigel scowled. “Typical. Stupid prat.”

Ron chuckled.

While they waited for Snape to be available, Nigel and Ron walked about the castle, reminiscing about the old days. They passed by the Prefects’ Bathroom, where Ron grinned.

“Isn’t that where Hermione caught you starkers once?” he asked Nigel.

Nigel rolled his eyes. “Just as I forgot that one! I spent a lot of time in that bath—I think it saved my life back then. You and I had a great water fight in there once. Remember?” Nigel turned to the nearby staircase. “I broke my ankle on those stairs. Harry and Draco had to carry me to McGonagall’s office.”

“How did we all get so old?” Ron mused.

Nigel laughed. “We’re only 26! Well, I am.”

“That’s right, rub it in, Nigel.”

They walked farther, passing the Trophy Room. Ron shuddered.

“That’s where Harry got burned by the last Horcrux,” he recalled.

“What an awful night that was,” Nigel said gravely.

“You were great, though,” Ron said brightly. “Those potions you and Snape made saved Harry’s life! Gods, it was so long ago! We were just kids then. Seventeen, can you imagine? And now we’re semi-responsible adults. Scary.”

“Say, Ron, what about you and Hermione?” Nigel asked. “When are my boys going to get some new cousins to torment?”

“I don’t know about the whole kid thing,” Ron replied. “Hermione is always bugging me about it.”

“It’s a natural thing, you know.”

“I know all too well. One of seven, remember?” Ron sighed. “Am I being selfish for not wanting kids?”

Nigel shrugged. “I never knew I wanted them until Ginny got pregnant with Freddy. It was so weird, I mean, it changed my entire perspective on everything, even before Freddy was actually born. I sort of define my life in two periods. Pre-Freddy and Post-Freddy.”

Ron smiled. “He’s a great kid, you know. You and Ginny are really good parents. Maybe I don’t think I’d be a good father. Maybe that’s my problem.”

“You’d be a great father, Ron!” Nigel declared. “You’ve got a young soul. You need that to deal with kids, trust me. They’d have a blast with you!”

As they neared another staircase, Ron looked up spotting the portrait of the Fat Lady, still guarding the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. “Nigel, do you ever wonder what would have happened if you had been sorted into Gryffindor?”

“Sometimes,” Nigel replied. “I remember when the Sorting Hat put me into Slytherin.”

Ron laughed. “I remember you and Malfoy both shouted NOOO in unison!”

Nigel shook his head. “I guess I was ignorant. Sort of portentous, wasn’t it, putting my into Slytherin?”

Ron shrugged. “Well Snape sure got his wish having you there.”

“He knew all along I was right for it. Guess he’s wiser than we knew.”

“True.” Ron laughed again. “I loved it when you punished Parkinson by giving points to Hufflepuff! That was brilliant! I wonder where she is now. Draco keep up with her at all?”

“I think his lawyer keeps up with her lawyer. That’s about it. It’s sad, though, I mean, as far as I know, she hasn’t made a single move to see the children or even send them a note.”

“Maybe she does but Draco intercepts them.”

Nigel rolled his eyes. “I guess that’s possible. I could see him doing that, though I think he would say it was for the children’s own protection.”

As they neared the Dungeons, Nigel and Ron spotted a figure in black, sitting on a bench near the Potions classroom, bent forward, head in hands.

“I guess she really is sick,” Ron whispered to Nigel.

“Severus,” Nigel said, “are you alright?” He sat next to his cousin on the bench and placed a hand on Snape’s shoulder.

Snape sat up and rubbed his tired eyes. “Allegra is unwell,” he replied morosely. “She’s been spotting a bit.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Of course, sometimes that can happen during pregnancy. She is over forty.”

“She’s nearly fifty!” Snape shot back.

“Women her age have kids,” Nigel said.

“Well OBVIOULSY,” Snape snarled.

“Is she following her Healer’s orders?” Nigel asked.

“To the very letter. I have a bad feeling about this baby, Nigel. This is serious.”

“All you can do is follow what your Healer says. And pray. Is she on bed rest?”

“For a short time, until the spotting stops.”

“Good. Just keep her comfortable and calm. Let her body heal.”

Snape nodded. “That’s what our Healer said.”

“Listen, Severus, we don’t have to talk potions today if you don’t want,” Nigel said. “Ron and I can figure this thing out on our own.”

“Nonsense,” Snape said. He stood up and straightened his robes. “I need the distraction.”

The three of them retired to Snape’s office to talk, though Nigel could see that his cousin was very distracted and not himself.

“This is very dark stuff she’s messing with, Nigel,” Snape said. “If she’s dealing with blood potions, there’s no good thing that can come from it. She may very well be trafficking in dark spirits.”

“You mean demons?” Ron asked, incredulous. He turned a little pale in the face.

“Precisely, Officer Weasley,” Snape replied.

“You mean Black Magic?” Nigel asked.

“Absolutely,” Snape said. “This is just as bad as anything Lord Voldemort did. Dark spirits are unknown entities, and therefore extremely dangerous. They are far more powerful than any of us, and have the ability to manipulate the mind in terrifying ways.”

“Worse than the Imperius Curse?” Ron asked.

“Far worse,” Snape replied. “Most magic doesn’t deal in that sort of thing, but this muggle stuff does. And it can be very powerful and very effective. Some muggle curses are permanent.”

That didn’t sound good.

“Would she be putting curses on other witches and wizards?” Ron asked.

“I doubt that,” Nigel said. “She’s too busy killing us for our blood. But she might be using it to gain power over other muggles, or even over life and death.”

“Just so,” Snape agreed. “There’s a whole history of such things. People who are afflicted by these curses often seek out witch-doctors to get healed, but it never works. In the end, they need to go to an exorcist.”

Ron raised his eyebrows at that. “Wasn’t there a muggle film about that?”

“I saw that ages ago,” Nigel said. “Based on a true story.”

“Frankly, I have no idea what she might be doing specifically with blood,” Snape admitted. “I have never used human blood in a potion, even when I was a Death Eater. Every good potion-maker knows that the inclusion of human blood is strictly for the most dark purposes. No goodness can come from it. This woman must be stopped, and not just because she’s a murderer. She is tampering with the spiritual order of the universe, and that is far worse than any single murder.”

“If that’s what she’s doing with the blood,” Nigel said. “Let’s hope she’s not.”

“But act as if she is,” Snape said.

* * * * *

After Nigel and Ron parted—they had a strong drink at the Three Broomsticks first—Ron returned to the Ministry with all the new information while Nigel went back to work at St. Mungo’s. He telephoned Ginny first, just to check in and see how she felt, then made his way up to the incurables ward, where he met with patients for the next couple of hours. His newest patient was a teenaged girl who had eaten a poisoned pineapple and hadn’t been quite right since then. She kept wanting to float up to the ceiling, so finally, Nigel had to use a sticking charm to keep her in her bed.

By lunchtime, Nigel was starved. In the wake of the flurry of support in the _Daily Prophet_ , Nigel found himself once again welcomed and admired. It was so odd—one day a leper, the next day a hero again. As much as Nigel wanted to feel cynical about these rapid shifts in allegiance, Nigel decided to be positive. Why ruin a good thing, especially when he really needed the moral support? Upstairs he went to the cafeteria, where the lunch lady gave him the biggest ham sandwich he had ever seen, extra mayonnaise.

“Wow!” Nigel exclaimed, laughing inwardly. “Thanks.”

“Hot coffee today, Healer Weasley-Chaucer. And if you need anything, dear, you just let me know!”

Nigel nodded. “I certainly shall. Thank you, Miss.”

Nigel took his sandwich and his cup of piping hot coffee, extra sugar included, and made his way to his favourite table by the window. Immediately, four other Healers, including Amir Kharloubian, stopped by to say hello.

“How’s it going, Nigel?” Amir asked.

“Great,” Nigel replied. “Hey, I read your letter. I appreciated the sentiment.”

“No problem, mate.” Mate? Was this really Amir talking? Nigel suppressed a smirk.

The sandwich was particularly good that day, as if the chef had gone out of his way to make Nigel’s sandwich extra special, with all his favourite toppings—mayonnaise, tomatoes, cucumbers, sweet Vidalia onion, mustard. Nigel found himself licking his fingertips as he ate.

“Slow down, Chaucer!”

Nigel looked up to see a grinning Harry Potter setting down a plate piled high with roast beef and mashed potatoes.

“What are you doing here, mate?” Nigel asked. He wiped a gob of mayonnaise off his chin as Harry joined him at the table.

“Just a checkup. Nothing serious.” He took a bite of his roast beef. “So you got exonerated by the general public. I was glad to see that.”

“It was Malfoy’s idea, actually,” Nigel said. He thought again about that kiss.

“My favourite was Ernie’s letter.”

Nigel laughed. “Me, too. So how’s the life of an Unspeakable?”

“Really bloody interesting. It’s much more than I ever thought it would be. Actually, I wondered if I was up to it, considering how clever everyone is. But we get to choose our own projects and sort of run with it.”

“So what’s yours?” Nigel asked.

“I’m still deciding,” Harry replied. “I’m leaning towards investigating the muggle-born phenomenon.”

“That makes sense, considering your mother’s background.”

“You’d be surprised how many Unspeakables are investigating you, Nigel,” Harry said. “I thought about joining in, but I decided to do something else.”

“Have they come up with any answers about me?” Nigel wondered.

“Considering you are a Prince, even though it’s generations back, it makes sense that you would become a wizard. But then the next question is why you became a wizard and no one else did.”

Nigel pondered that. “You know, Harry, it makes me wonder about something. What if I’m not the first one or the only one? What if there have been others out there who became wizards the same way, only as small children? Maybe even as babies? Or even as adults? What if some kid had surgery as a baby and got transfused with wizard blood?”

Harry shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. I guess we know about you because you lived so close to Hogwarts. If you had lived somewhere else, you may never have realised that you had become a wizard. The Ministry wouldn’t have known to put the Trace on you.”

“True. Strange.” Nigel took a sip from his coffee cup—it was still pretty hot. “So, how’s the love life these days? Any action I can gossip about?”

Harry blushed. “Actually, it’s pretty good these days.”

“Way to go, Potter! So come on, who is it?”

Harry paused. “Don’t laugh, alright?”

“Why would I laugh?”

“Well don’t tell Draco, alright?”

This was too much! Why all the secrecy? “Who is it? I swear, Harry, it’s between you and me. Come on! Dish!”

“You remember a sort of kooky girl at Hogwarts? Luna?”

Nigel grinned. “Always in search of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack right?”

“Well,” Harry continued, “I ran into her a few weeks ago in Diagon Alley, at Flourish & Blott’s, and we sort of struck up a conversation, which led to tea and lunch, and then to a long walk and then…well, you get the idea.”

“That’s great!” Nigel exclaimed. “Why would I laugh?”

“She had a sort of reputation.”

“I wasn’t at Hogwarts long enough to know about that much. Other things to do, like saving your arse, that sort of thing. So who else knows?”

“No one. Well, Hermione knows, of course,” Harry said. “I pretty much tell her everything. Plus, Luna told her we were seeing each other.”

“So is it serious?” Nigel asked.

“Kind of, I mean, yeah, it is. It’s funny about me and Luna, I mean, when I was at school, I never would have dated her. Never! But I guess I was just young and too immature, too worried about peer pressure. It’s different now, though. She takes a bit of getting used to.”

Nigel took another bite of his sandwich. ‘I think it’s great. If she’s good for you and you’re good for her, then who cares what others will say?”

Harry frowned slightly. “Bringing her to parties, though…I haven’t done that yet. Is that bad?”

Nigel shrugged. “Look, Harry, if you love her, then you should have no issues about being seen with her. If you have issues with that, then maybe you need to date her a little more. But if what you feel is genuine, then take her out! Bring her over to Malfoy Manor!”

Harry snorted. “And expose her to Draco’s sarcasm? I don’t think so.”

“Trust me, Harry. I’ve got stuff on Draco that would make your hair turn white. If he says a word, I’ll drop such a secret that he’ll never be able to show his face again.”

* * * * *

**McGONAGALL SET TO RETIRE. NEW HEADMASTER NAMED  
 _Severus Snape set to take the helm at Hogwarts._**

by Donald Bosco  
Education Editor

After serving ten years as Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Professor Minerva McGonagall has decided to retire. This decision came as a shock to the Board of Governors, who had hoped she would serve as Head for at least five more years. She came to this decision based on her age and on her desire to, as she told the _Prophet_ , “take on a new role as surrogate Grandmama.” This is a reference, no doubt, to the presence of small children for the first time at Hogwarts—the 4 year-old daughter and baby son of Professor Severus Snape. According to McGonagall, these children have “given me a new lease on life.”

The appointment of Professor Snape to the position of Headmaster came with a fair amount of controversy. After he left Hogwarts as a student, Snape became a Death Eater, though only for a few short years. Since he returned to Hogwarts in 1981 as Potions teacher, Snape remained loyal to his mentor, Professor Albus Dumbledore. Many serious questions were raised after Dumbledore died by Snape’s wand in June of 1997, however, sources from the Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Phoenix assert that this was a private arrangement between Snape and Dumbledore. After Snape was exonerated by the Ministry, he was instrumental in saving the life of Harry Potter and of bringing down Lord Voldemort. In fact, Snape was nearly killed in that final battle.

Since then, the new Headmaster has resumed his career as Potions teacher, and recently wed Private Investigator Allegra Brigantes, herself a former Hogwarts teacher. Their oldest child is set to attend the Patil Academy for Young Witches and Wizards this September, but McGonagall looks forward to many more months watching over the youngest Snape, one year-old Nigel Brian.

The new Headmaster was unavailable for comment, however, the induction ceremony will take place at Hogwarts at the End of Year Feast…

He couldn’t believe it. Snape as Headmaster? Amazing!

“Did you all see this?” Nigel asked Ginny and Draco as they sat at breakfast in the solarium. Ginny and Draco read the story together, wide-eyed.

“Do they really know what they’re doing, appointing him?” Ginny wondered.

“I think he’ll be really good for the school,” Draco declared. “He’s young, so he’ll be around a long time, and I think he’ll make a lot of changes.”

“Change isn’t always good, though,” Ginny said cautiously.

“I bet it wasn’t his idea at all,” Nigel said. “I can see him, sort of stumbling for words when he was appointed Head!”

Draco laughed. “Trying to keep his cool and at the same time trying not to wet himself! This is every Slytherin’s dream!”

“Do you think he really wants it, though?” Nigel wondered. “I mean, he usually likes the quiet life, even if he is a Slytherin. Being Head of Hogwarts is going to change everything for him.”

“He’ll have to wash his hair much more frequently,” Ginny laughed.

“Have they ever had a married Headmaster before?” Draco asked.

“I expect so,” Ginny said. “I mean, in a thousand years, you’d think so.”

“Yeah,” Draco replied, “but usually they’re pretty old when they’re appointed. Spouse already dead, kids grown. That sort of thing. And neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall were ever married. But Snape is only forty-seven.”

“Forty-seven going on eighty-seven,” Nigel said. “Maybe they’re looking for permanence or something, someone who can be around for a long time and give the place some continuity.”

“But won’t he be overly strict? I bet Mr. Filch is excited about this,” Ginny said. “He’s probably polishing the whips and chains right now.”

“Governing a school is totally different from running a class. His relationship with the students will be on an entirely different level,” Nigel pointed out. “I’m really happy for him! I’m happy for the school, too. I think he’s going to be good for the school.”

Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You would.”

Later that day, after work and appointments were finished, Nigel decided to apparate to Hogwarts to give his congratulations to Snape in person. But when he arrived and shot up red sparks from his wand at the gates, Nigel was greeted by a grieved and shaken Minerva McGonagall.

“Nigel,” she said sadly. “I expect you’re here to see Severus.”

Nigel’s heart raced. A sickening feeling rose in his throat. “What’s going on? Is he okay?”

“Allegra…oh Nigel, it’s awful!”

“She’s not…”

“No! She’s alive, but she…oh Nigel! She lost the baby!” McGonagall buried her face in her thin, shaking hands and sobbed.

Nigel didn’t know whether to faint from anguish or to jump into action. Too many conflicting thoughts and pictures raged in his mind, and for a moment, he found he couldn’t speak.

“Where is he? At St. Mungo's?” he finally asked.

McGonagall nodded. “Nigel, he’s devastated. He’s nearly out of his mind right now. Just promise me to deal very gently with him. I don’t want him going off the deep end over this.”

“I will. I promise.” And with that, Nigel disapparated directly to St. Mungo's.

When he arrived, he ran straight up to the Witches’ Centre, figuring that Allegra would be there. He looked up and down the corridors as he went and then, at last, in the corridor just outside the entrance to the Centre, there he was. Snape leaned casually against the wall, his features set like hard, white stone. Nigel had no idea what to do. He had dealt with families in crisis before and had helped many people work through grief and loss. This should have been easy for him, but Nigel knew that with Severus Snape, nothing was ever easy.

Nigel approached his cousin and simply stood next to him, waiting for Snape to say the first word. Snape didn’t say anything, though he felt Nigel’s presence there, next to him. Several tense minutes passed, the two of them standing next to each other, waiting. Finally, Snape spoke.

“They’re still working on her,” he said quietly. “They’re trying to keep her from…from dying.”

Nigel nodded, remembering all his training on empathic listening. “Tell me what happened, Severus.”

Snape sighed. He was visibly shaking from head to foot. Nigel placed a strong hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “She woke up, feeling terrible. We lit the torches in the room and it was clear she was really hemorrhaging. I sent my Patronus to alert Minerva, and then I apparated Allegra here. She’s been in the procedure room for five hours now.”

“Minerva told me Allegra…”

Snape nodded. “That’s how it looks.”

“Gods, Severus, I’m so sorry.”

“We thought it might happen,” he replied, his voice quavering. He furtively rubbed his eyes and sniffled. Nigel handed him a handkerchief. “The spotting never went away, and yesterday, it was getting worse. I wanted to bring her here yesterday, but she wanted to wait. I shouldn’t have listened to her.”

Finally, after another several minutes of intense waiting, Jude Rosen and Anuarite Mbute came out. Snape rushed to them, but Nigel stayed behind, knowing his cousin needed to handle this on his own, whatever Allegra’s fate might have been. Over the years, Nigel had learned that keeping a respectful distance during difficult times was the best way to deal with his moody and sometimes explosive cousin. He watched with concern and waited to see what Snape’s next move would be. Anuarite led a distraught Snape into the Witches’ Centre, but Rosen came over to speak to Nigel.

“Is it bad, Jude?” Nigel asked.

“Allegra’s going to be fine, though we almost lost her. She had a rare condition where the placenta actually went through the wall of the uterus and latched onto the next nearest organ. That’s why she bled so much. I was ready to send her to muggle hospital, to be honest, but we finally staunched it. She’s going to need time to heal, though. We think she’ll need another day here, then Severus will take her to the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. That way she can be around people she knows. That will be good for her recovery.”

“And the baby? Minerva said the baby died.”

“Actually, she survived, though she’s very tiny. We’ve got our neonatal specialists taking care of her.”

“That’s amazing!” Nigel exclaimed. “She’s only about five months or so, right?”

“Five and a half, actually,” Rosen replied. “We’ve saved smaller than that. All her organs are fully formed. She was in the stage of pregnancy where she just needs to gain some weight. We’ll let her out when she’s half a stone.”

“And Severus knows his daughter is alive?”

“I just told him. He’s going to speak to Allegra right now, sit with her. You’re welcome to join him. He could use the moral support, I think. And take the day off, by the way. Be with your cousin. He needs you right now.”

Nigel walked tentatively into the Witches’ Centre, where Snape sat by his sleeping wife’s bedside. Quietly, Nigel pulled up a chair alongside his cousin and sat with him, not talking, but allowing Snape to feel whatever joy or sorrow or fear or relief he was feeling just then.

“Jude told you? The child is fine,” Snape whispered.

“Does Allegra know?” Nigel whispered back.

“I’ll tell her when she wakes. They’ve got her on the Lethargis potion right now, just to keep her calm.”

“Look, Severus, if I can help her at all, as a Healer especially, please let me know what I can do.”

Snape nodded. “What you’re doing right here is all we need right now. You have no idea how much you are helping us this very moment. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Headmaster.” Nigel gave him a little nudge.

Snape only rolled his eyebrows and groaned impatiently. “Really, Chaucer, we’re in a hospital ward. Show a little dignity.”

Nigel smirked, detecting the hint of a twinkle in his cousin’s eye.


	10. An Intruder in Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dina looked at Nigel softly. She moved her arm slowly, carefully, as if to show that she was ready to hand over the gun and give herself up. But then, her face fell, and tears ran down her face. Quick as a fox, she pointed the gun at Nigel._
> 
> _“NO!” Ginny shrieked._
> 
> _Dina turned her attention—and her gun—towards the source of the voice, straight at Ginny._

Allegra Snape healed more slowly than anyone anticipated, though knowing her baby was alive and getting better helped to ease her mind. For the first few days after nearly losing the baby and her life, Allegra had no chance to see the baby, and she was far too unwell to decide on a name for the tiny girl. Every day, Snape visited his new daughter in hospital, making sure she was getting well and gaining weight. For the most part the baby was fine—she had a little jaundice, but that lasted only a few days. Every day, Snape would bring Allegra everything she needed in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, and with the assistance of Madame Pomfrey, Allegra gained back her strength and stamina. The best parts of her day were hearing her husband’s reports on how the child was doing.

Nigel, Ginny and Draco visited frequently, bringing their children to visit the Snapes. McGongall’s office had turned into a virtual day-care centre over the last few weeks, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Nigel noticed that there was a certain new sparkle in McGonagall’s eyes these days, being around so many little children. It was a side of her that he hadn’t really seen before, a tenderness and even a girlishness that the kids brought out in her. And with a new baby Snape now in the world, Nigel knew that McGonagall craved the day when she’d get to look after her, as well.

Droves of students also came to visit Allegra, bringing her sweets, flowers, items from Zonko’s and from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, bottles of butterbeer and books on everything from crocheting and cookery to the Kama Sutra—that one was from a Seventh Year Slytherin boy. Snape put him in detention for a month. Ginny played games of wizard chess with Allegra, and when Nigel was with her at night after work, the Weasley-Chaucers and the Snapes would play rounds of Whist. During the day, Ginny and Draco would take Allegra on little walks, and sometimes they would visit Hagrid’s hut, though Hagrid had to keep Fang away from Allegra.

“I think I want to name her Althea,” Allegra said one night. She, Snape, Nigel and Ginny sat in the Great Hall after dinner, talking and watching all the students retreat to their Houses.

“Althea?” Ginny asked. “Why?”

“I read a poem called ‘To Althea, from Prison,’ by Richard Lovelace, and…”

But Snape chuckled at that. “A muggle poem?”

“His aunt was a witch, you know,” Allegra said. “Anyway, the poem is about the meaning of true love. It says that no matter where he is, whether he’s with his girl or his friends or even in prison, that his soul is always free to love.”

Nigel laughed. “That’s lovely, Allegra,” he said. “What a great idea.”

“So what do you think, Severus?” Allegra asked.

“Althea Snape,” he murmured as if to test the name. “It sounds good.”

Allegra patted his hand, then she leaned over to Nigel. “I knew he’d go for it,” she whispered in his ear.

“You don’t think he’d refuse you, do you?” Nigel replied.

“Stop whispering like conspirators and shuffle the cards,” Snape ordered.

When Nigel and Ginny arrived back to Malfoy Manor that night, they found a very drunken Draco sitting alone on the staircase, rubbing his ankle. An empty bottle of Old Ogden’s lay on its side at the foot of the stairs. A crumpled up parchment had rolled next to a shattered vase. Draco’s eyes were glazed and unfocused, and he looked a bit green. Nigel and Ginny stood in the doorway, staring at him in wonder.

“Have a party whilst we were out, Malfoy?” Nigel asked.

“Sts my damn hsse, dammit,” Draco slurred. “Lll drink wn I bldy wnt!” He swooned a little.

“Where are the kids?” Ginny asked. “Is Greta with them?”

But Draco didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned over the side of the staircase and threw up.

“Oh my gods,” Nigel murmured. He pointed his wand at the pile of sick. “Evanesco!”

Draco was now leaning his face against the railing, still green.

“I think he’s gonna blow again,” Ginny told Nigel.

“So do I.”

“Shttp!” Draco snarled at them, pointing a finger at no one in particular. And again, he leaned over the side and threw up. Nigel spotted Draco’s wand sticking out of his bathrobe. Before he could summon the wand, Draco gripped it tight and pointed it directly at Nigel. “What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?!” Draco shouted.

“Making sure you don’t fuck up your house,” Nigel replied. With a wave of his hand, the wand shot out of Draco’s grasp and clattered to the floor, across the entrance hall. “Getting tight and doing magic generally don’t mix well.”

“Fcckue, Chasssr!” Draco slurred with a dramatic wave of his arm.

Ginny feigned a smile. “Hey, Draco, what’s with your ankle?” She edged towards him and sat down next to him on the stairs. His ankle looked swollen and purple. “Did you fall down the stairs?”

Draco looked at her with sad puppy-dog eyes and nodded. “Fell on my arse!” he crowed, cackling. “Fucking broke my ankle!”

Ginny threw a warning glance at Nigel. “Well do you think Nigel could have a look at it? I’m sure he can fix for you in a second.”

“You’re HOT,” Draco slurred, trying to pet Ginny’s mane of red hair.

“I can fix your ankle, Draco,” Nigel said. “It’s no problem.” He sat on the stair below Draco’s and took a close look at the ankle. When he touched it with his finger, Draco howled in pain.

“OWWW!!! STOP!” Draco bellowed.

“I barely touched it, you big baby!” Nigel shot back. “Just shut up for a minute and let me do my job!”

Draco swooned again. His eyes crossed. “I shhdnta snogged you, man. You’re a bitch!”

Ginny gasped. Nigel suppressed the sudden desire to strangle his friend. He pressed his wand sharply—maybe a little too sharply—against Draco’s injured ankle and uttered the incantation—a warm glow emanated from his wand, engulfing his friend’s big foot. After a minute, Nigel stopped and sat back.

“Better?” he asked.

Draco nodded, then burst into drunken tears. Nigel rolled his eyes and stood up.

“Let’s get him to bed,” he said to Ginny. “Then let’s get the House Elf to brew some strong coffee.”

Together, they struggled to get Draco up the stairs and into his bed, not bothering to undress him or even throw the duvet over him. Ginny put a rubbish bin next to the bed, just in case, then returned downstairs with Nigel to get the coffee.

“What was that comment he made, about snogging you?” she asked.

When Nigel explained the situation, Ginny laughed.

“He’s such a prat,” she said. “Sweet occasionally, but mostly a prat.”

“Very occasionally. So, you don’t think that…” Nigel started.

“Are you mad?” Ginny grinned. “No way. The second you run off with Malfoy is the day I join a convent!”

Before they returned upstairs with a pot of coffee and a giant beaker, Nigel squatted down and picked up the crunched up parchment. He read it over and frowned.

“Final divorce papers,” he said glumly.

“Oh dear,” Ginny replied. “No wonder he got drunk.”

* * * * *

No more murders, at least not for several weeks now. Nigel wondered what that meant. Could it be that Dina had gotten what she wanted? Did she give up on her project? Was she dead or did she flee the country? Who knew? Maybe she was in an institution, raving in a rubber room somewhere far away. All he knew was that the feeling of peace the wizarding world now experienced was far from perfect or tranquil. People felt better about wearing their robes again in public, though most still looked over their shoulder, especially if they went out at night.

The morning after Draco’s drunken rampage, Nigel and Ginny awoke to a knock at their bedroom door. They groaned and turned over, not wanting to talk to anyone at that unbelievably early hour. But after two minutes of knocking, Nigel finally had enough. He waved a hand to let the door open. A terrified George dashed in and threw himself into their bed, squeezing himself between Nigel and Ginny.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Ginny asked, troubled by his distress.

George shuddered. “There’s a monster under my bed!” he whimpered.

“Are you sure? You didn’t just have a bad dream?”

“No! There’s a monster!”

Nigel propped up the pillows and sat up. “So what did it look like?” he asked. “It didn’t have white hair, did it?”

George nodded enthusiastically. Nigel and Ginny looked at each other, wondering.

“OK, George, you stay here with Mummy, and I’ll go check out this monster,” Nigel said, getting out of bed.

George threw his arms around Ginny’s neck.

“Good luck, honey,” Ginny said, trying to sound serious.

Nigel wandered down the corridor to the boys’ room and opened the door. Tom was still asleep in his crib, and Freddy snored lightly in his own bed, by the window. And then, Nigel turned to George’s bed. His eyes widened.

“Oh my gods,” he murmured. “This is ridiculous.”

Sticking out from under George’s bed were two big feet, one clad in a fluffy purple sock, the other bare. Nigel could see the place where he had mended Draco’s broken ankle the night before. He peered at the other side of George’s bed, seeing a tuft of white blond hair poking out from underneath the bed frame. Draco’s snores filled the room.

“How the hell?” Nigel wondered. He crouched down and grabbed Draco by the feet, then apparated his friend back to his own bed.

The sudden activity woke Draco up. He winced as the morning light pierced his red eyes, which he shielded with his fists, almost grinding them into his face.

“Morning, barfly,” Nigel said, standing next to the bed.

Draco could only moan in pain. “Isn’t there a spell to make the room stop spinning, Chaucer? Go on, you’re a clever wizard. Make it happen. Chop chop.”

“Fraid you’re on your own on that one, mate,” Nigel replied. He conjured a tall glass of water, which he handed to Draco. “Drink up. Your brains are all dried out.”

Draco downed the entire glass and sighed. “I feel like hell,” he said.

“Do you remember anything?”

“Tom McDowell came over last night. Gave me the final divorce papers. I guess I got upset, you know. Don’t know why, I mean, I should be dancing in the streets!”

“How did you end up in my sons’ room this morning?” Nigel asked.

Draco furrowed his brow. “I did? Shit! I thought I heard Abraxas call me, and I went into some room, but then he wasn’t there, and I got tired and lay down on the floor. Geez, I really was fucked up, wasn’t I?”

“You told Ginny you kissed me, you know,” Nigel said.

“Uh oh.” Draco grimaced. “She wasn’t angry, was she?”

Nigel laughed. “No. She understood.”

Draco rubbed his brow. “Gods! I haven’t been this drunk in a long time! I hope I didn’t give you much trouble last night.”

“You do know you broke your ankle, right?” Nigel asked.

Draco stared ahead for a moment, lost in thought—Nigel assumed he was trying to remember. “I don’t bloody believe it! How can I not remember breaking my ankle?”

“You drank a whole bottle of firewhiskey, mate! Look, come on downstairs and get some eggs and toast and more water. No coffee this morning. Healer’s orders.”

A half hour later, a very sheepish Draco Malfoy appeared in the dining room—everyone else was already eating. George laughed when he saw the Monster from under his bed.

“See, George,” Ginny said, “it was just a Malfoy.”

“You know,” Nigel said, “I was just thinking.”

“Congratulations,” Draco sneered.

“And I thought it might be fun for us to throw you a party, Draco. A sort of freedom party, you know?”

Draco eyed Abraxas, who was focused on his plate of eggs. “Let me think about it, Chaucer. I think I need to sort process this whole thing, if you know what I mean. I’ll let you know.”

In the meantime, between more work and more visits to Hogwarts to check on Allegra’s recovery, life had become extremely busy for Nigel and Ginny. There hadn’t been a single murder in two months now, but there was still no sign of Dina anywhere. Ron and Brian would often give Nigel updates, but with no answers, Nigel felt very uncertain about moving back to the flat just yet, though Ginny had mentioned it more and more.

“I miss our place,” Ginny told him. “I think we need to consider moving home.”

“I think we need to wait on this,” he said. “If she’s still stalking me, I don’t want her coming after you or the kids.”

“She hasn’t attacked in weeks.”

“That doesn’t mean she won’t,” Nigel pointed out. “Until she’s found, we can’t go back.”

That evening, after the children had been put to bed, Nigel, Ginny, Draco and Greta all retired to the library for a nightcap. Draco grinned, making Nigel very suspicious.

“Remember that party you wanted to have, Nigel?” Draco asked.

“In celebration of your liberation,” Nigel said.

“Yeah, will liberation can only go so far, or so I’ve discovered,” Draco replied. He glanced at Greta and grinned again. “And I’ve found a better reason for throwing a party. I mean, which is better, gloating over a failed relationship or celebrating a new one?”

“Draco proposed!” Greta exclaimed. “We’re getting married!”

Nigel was stunned. How could he? Again! This sort of rushed wedding was how it happened with Pansy! Of course, Greta Abbot was no Pansy Parkinson, but still. She was very young, barely twenty, and relatively innocent. Nigel didn’t know what to say.

“What?” Draco asked, a little offended by Nigel’s silence. “No response from the Weasley-Chaucer?”

“I…I’m speechless,” Nigel replied.

“You disapprove?” Draco asked, more offended.

“No, it’s just…no, I mean, if you guys are happy, then that’s great!” Nigel knew Draco wasn’t buying it.

“You are going to wait, aren’t you?” Ginny asked. “I mean, you’ll take time and have a proper wedding, right?”

“Oh no, we want to get married at the end of May,” Greta said.

Ginny shrugged at Nigel.

Draco frowned. “I knew you were a bit old-fashioned, Chaucer, but believe it or not, we do know what we’re doing.”

“Draco, don’t start,” Nigel hissed. “This is what you did before, with Pansy.”

“And Pansy is a totally different person!” Draco shot back. “I thought you’d know that! And I’ve been honourable this time.”

“This time?” Nigel asked.

“Draco and I haven’t shared a bed in many weeks,” Greta replied. “Once we realised what we felt, we decided to do things properly, and get to know each other. No sex.”

Ginny laughed. “That’s great, Greta. Then I’m happy for you. Honestly.”

Nigel shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry, Draco. You’re right, I am being a pill. I’m sorry, alright?”

But he worried that he had said too much and caused a serious rift in their friendship. They’d had their arguments before and always managed to patch things up, but when it came to matters of the heart, Nigel could see that some things didn’t patch up quite so easily. Of course, he’d had similar battles with Snape, and always managed to reconcile—in fact, it seemed that every time Nigel and Snape fought each other, their bond grew deeper. But Draco was his own person—as much as he loved Draco, Nigel could never quite see the same level of maturity or wisdom in him that he saw in Snape. Then again, Draco had been spoiled all his childhood, whereas Snape had to struggle for everything he had. Nigel knew it was unfair to compare his two closest friends, but sometimes, he couldn’t help it.

Thus, Nigel decided to make it up to Draco by throwing a huge engagement bash at Malfoy Manor. He invited everyone they knew: Blaise, Hermione and Ron, Vincent Crabbe, Millicent Bullstrode, Snape and Allegra, all their old friends from Hogwarts. Together with Ginny and the House Elf, they drew up an extravagant menu and planned all sorts of spectacular decorations, including real fairy lights. This could be a lot of fun, Nigel surmised. He and Ginny ordered a special gift for the happy couple, one that he would pick up in Diagon Alley the day of the party.

“I’ll stop at the office to turn in the revision of my column,” Ginny said. “Then you and I can get lunch and pick up the gift. Oh, and I want to stop by Fred and George’s, too.”

“Let’s bring the boys. Freddy wants to see the new Pygmy Puffs,” Nigel suggested.

* * * * *

That Saturday morning looked to be a perfect day. Not a single cloud in the sky. Nigel and Ginny gathered up the kids, got them dressed and ready for their family outing, and as one, apparated to the Leaky Cauldron, where they had a quick lunch. The proprietor served up huge ham sandwiches and crisps and mugs of butterbeer for everyone.

“Those boys of yours are sure getting big!” he said fondly.

Nigel grinned and mussed Freddy’s hair. “We can hardly keep up with them any more!” he said, laughing. “This one’s going to be five in a few months.”

The proprietor squatted down next to Freddy. “Five! Next thing you know, you’re gonna be at Hogwarts, aren’t you, sonny?”

Freddy looked a little confused. Ginny laughed. “He’s a bit shy today,” she said.

After lunch, the Weasley-Chaucers strolled through Diagon Alley, showing the boys all the window displays. Freddy especially liked the Quidditch supplies, but George liked the owls. Tom wanted a wand.

“In nine years, Tom,” Nigel said.

They parted in front of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, Ginny taking the boys to visit their uncles and Nigel going to get Draco and Greta’s engagement gift. He meandered casually, feeling calm and happy as he went. Lots people greeted him with friendly smiles and bright “hellos.” Someone ran past him, looking troubled. A mother and child rushed past, then two men. Nigel kept walking, wondering what was going on. Maybe a manitcore got loose or something. A few more people rushed past, looking worried, no longer stopping to say hello to anyone.

That was when he saw it. A huge crowd of people had gathered at the entrance to Knockturn Alley, murmuring and gaping and pointing. Nigel stopped a wizard in shimmering black robes.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Someone’s trapped in there, behind those crates,” the man said. “Heard it’s a muggle.”

A muggle? Here? In Diagon Alley? That didn’t sound quite right. But then, Nigel made a terrible realisation. Could it be she? Here? He hoped not, but he knew that it likely was. He thought of Ginny and his children, innocently wandering down the lane, window shopping, not knowing about his immanent danger.

“Has anyone called Law Enforcement?” Nigel asked the man.

“They’re there already. Three of them.” Without another word, the wizard rushed off in the opposite direction.

Nigel got a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach as he neared the excited crowed. In the midst of the throng, Nigel spotted a shock of red hair—Ron, on duty. Nigel elbowed his way forward through the crowd, waving at Ron, who saw Nigel and waved him off.

“Nigel, get out of here!” Ron snapped.

“What’s going on?” Nigel asked.

“It’s her, Dina.”

“How did she get in here?”

“She followed a witch dressed in her robes! She chased her all through the streets and then she shot at her! Fortunately, the witch was able to disapparate in time!”

“You’ve got her trapped in there?” Nigel asked, pointing to the crates.

“She’s got that gun, so we can’t just get her out nice and easy or anything,” Ron said. “We don’t want her shooting that thing and hurting someone. Plus she’s a muggle, I mean, we can’t exactly use serious magic on her, can we?”

Soon, Louella Pierce, Boris Borisov and James Fowler appeared on the scene, ready to take action.

“Mr. Chaucer,” Pierce said, “you really shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe for you!”

“If she’s got a gun, it’s not safe for anyone!” Nigel replied. “Look, maybe I can talk her out. She knows me, well, sort of.”

“No way, Mr. Chaucer,” Pierce said. “This is far too volatile a situation. You need to step back, into the crowd.”

“Let him try, Louella,” Borisov suggested. “He’s right. Everyone else here is a stranger. A familiar voice might calm her down.”

“How long has she been in there?” Nigel asked.

“About forty-five minutes,” Ron replied. “She’s pretty freaked out right now.”

“I can imagine,” Nigel said. This could get ugly.

Slowly, carefully, Nigel crept forward, looking for any sign of Dina in the tangle of crates.

“Dina?” he called.

No answer.

“Dina? It’s Nigel. Nigel Chaucer. Remember me? Are you in there?”

No answer. A click.

Nigel took a deep breath. “Dina, I want to talk to you, alright? Can we do that?”

“There’s nothing left to talk about,” she replied, her voice faint. Nigel sensed that she was extremely paranoid. She was capable of just about anything in that state.

“Look, Dina, it’s time for all this to be over,” Nigel said calmly. “You and I need to talk about this.”

“NO!”

“I don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” Nigel continued. His hands shook. “And I don’t want you to get hurt. I want to help you, alright?”

Silence.

“Dina?”

Slowly, one crate moved, then another. A disheveled Dina, dressed all in black, stood up, still holding the gun at her side. Nigel could see that she had been crying. He looked into her eyes, desperate to give her some sense of trust and confidence.

“That’s great, Dina,” he said, walking very slowly towards her. “But you need to set down your gun.” He quickly looked back over his shoulder, horrified to see a newly arrived Ginny, an expression of sheer terror on her face. But it was too late to stop the process. Nigel pressed on. “Dina, please. Set down that gun.”

Dina flinched back, looking alarmed by the suggestion.

“You all have those wands!” she said shakily. “Even that WIFE of yours over there! I don’t have anything! No magic at all. I tried, but it didn’t work. I did it over and over and over and OVER AND YOU PEOPLE WOULDN’T GIVE ME A DAMN THING!” By now she was screeching.

Nigel steeled himself. “Dina, you remember our conversation? I told you that magic doesn’t…”

“…work that way, I know,” she said bitterly. Dina glanced down at the gun in her hand.

Nigel stretched out his hand. “How about if you give me that gun?”

Dina looked at him softly. She moved her arm slowly, carefully, as if to show that she was ready to hand over the gun and give herself up. But then, her face fell, and tears ran down her face. Quick as a fox, she pointed the gun at Nigel.

“NO!” Ginny shrieked.

Dina turned her attention—and her gun—towards the source of the voice, straight at Ginny. She fired. In a flash, Nigel thrust out his hand and shouted “DETERGERE!” A blast of blue light jetted out of his hands, connecting with the bullet and sending it into splinters and dust.

“STUPEFY!” Ron shouted, pointing his wand at Dina. A blaze of light blew out of his wand, hitting Dina in the chest. She flew back with a terrifying screech, slamming against the pile of crates and crumpling in a heap on the ground. The gun catapulted out of her hand in a wide arc, smashing against a shop window. Five Law Enforcement officers rushed forward to apprehend her, putting her in handcuffs and lifting her roughly to her feet. 

Nigel stood aghast, watching the whole scene unfold before his eyes, nearly paralysed with fear for Ginny and their sons. As Dina was led off, Nigel turned to face Ginny. She ran to him and threw herself into his arms, weeping and grasping onto him desperately. Nigel held her to himself, not wanting to let her go, even when George began frantically tugging on the belt of his robes. Nigel could only bury himself into Ginny’s hair and sob bitterly.

“You’re okay,” Ginny wept. “We’re okay!” She loosened her grip on Nigel and took Tom from Freddy’s arms, handing him to a still crying Nigel.

Tom felt like swan feathers in Nigel’s arms, magical and light. Finally, Nigel got control of his emotions. With Tom still in his arms, Nigel squatted down to comfort a still crying George. Nigel put a comforting arm around his son.

“It’s okay, Georgie,” he whispered into George’s ear. “It’s okay.”

But was it?


	11. When All is Said and Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With things finally getting back to normal, a new announcement will change the whole wizarding world.

He had to speak to her, try to understand why she did what she did.

Bad idea, Louella Pierce told him.

Crap, Nigel said.

You won’t do any good by it. She’s deranged.

But Nigel insisted, against the wishes of Ginny, Snape, his parents and everyone else. 

“Nigel, this is madness,” his father said to him four days after Dina’s arrest.

“She can’t hurt me, Dad,” Nigel insisted. “She’s disarmed. She’s no more threat. But I need to know why she did this to us.”

“You won’t get a good reason,” Mr. Chaucer said. “You know that. The woman is out of her mind. Just leave well enough alone for once!”

Nigel shook his head. “I’m sorry, Dad, but I have to do this.”

“If you think this will give you some sense of closure,” Mrs. Chaucer said, “I don’t think it will. What she did to you and to your people has no rational explanation.”

“Your mother is right, Nigel,” Ginny said.

As hard as they tried, there was no disabusing him. Nigel arranged through Tom McDowell to visit Dina in jail.

“Personally, I think this is crazy, Nigel,” McDowell said, “but if this is what you want.”

“And I want to be alone with her.”

McDowell raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I don’t think her brief will allow you to do that, Nigel, no matter your intentions. For everyone’s good, I’ll accompany you, since I know about muggle law and you don’t. You know that brief’s had her plead insanity, don’t you?”

“I figured as much,” Nigel replied, a bit disappointed.

“You know, Nigel, this could end up working out very well for the magical community, and not just because a serial killer is going to be put away. If she starts to testify about a magical world and magical blood, that’s going to make her look completely barkers. She might spend the rest of her life in an institution.”

Nigel gazed glumly out of McDowell’s office window at the muggle traffic below. “It’s so confusing, Tom,” he said. “I mean, as much as I hate her for what she did and as much as I’d like to really thrash her for all the harm and fear she caused, I…I don’t know.”

“You feel sorry for her.”

Nigel sighed heavily. “I feel so disloyal, I mean, she would have shot Ginny! If I hadn’t turned that bullet to dust, Ginny might be dead! Maybe I’m the one who’s crazy.”

“You have a good heart, Nigel. And if that’s a problem, I wish more people had the same affliction.”

It took another full week before Nigel got his wish to visit Dina. There was consulting with her attorney, her psychiatrist, with the police and with the Q.C. on the case. More protests from Ginny brought additional distress to Nigel, but he remained resolute.

“You should be working on your testimony in muggle court, Nigel, not trying to psych the bitch out,” Ginny sneered. “May I remind you that she could have killed me and she damn near killed YOU!”

Nigel sat next to her on the settee in the library of Malfoy Manor. “Look, Ginny, I’m not interested in setting her free, gods forbid. But I feel partly responsible for this whole thing, and if I don’t get some answers, this is going to drive me mad!”

Ginny’s features softened. She traced his jawline with her fingertip. “Nigel, you have to let this go. She made a choice to do this to us. It had nothing to do with you.”

“But if I hadn’t said…”

“Nigel, we’ve been over this!”

“I know, but I can’t help it! It’s weighing hard on my conscience, and if I can just get some semblance of an answer, then maybe I can sleep better at night and not keep blaming myself. Please understand. I have to do this.”

* * * * *

Nigel’s only experience with any sort of prison was the few visits he made to Azkaban, the terrifying wizard prison. It was a place of doom and darkness, with no hope, no light, not the smallest frisson of peace. The last time Nigel visited Azkaban, he tended sick and dying prisoners, including Draco’s father, who died only moments after Nigel had arrived. Since that harrowing excursion, Nigel had sworn to himself never to set foot in any prison again.

So here he was, accompanied by Tom McDowell, entering muggle prison to visit the woman who nearly murdered him. He wondered if Ginny and McDowell had a point. But it was too late now, and he had so many questions and so much he wanted to say to Dina. He wondered if she was lucid.

Nigel and McDowell were ushered by the very tall prison guard into a small interview room—four white walls and a metal table and chairs. They sat, their backs to the mirror, and waited for Dina to arrive.

“Just remember that her brief will likely tell her not to answer some of your questions,” McDowell warned him.

“I’m not here to interrogate her, Tom,” Nigel replied.

“The brief may not know that.”

He had a point.

At long last, the door opened, and Dina, handcuffed and dressed in prison garb, was led inside by another guard, followed by her attorney, dressed in a plain brown dress and flat shoes, her hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. Dina looked pale and thin, though only a few days had passed. Her eyes, once sparkling and witty and pretty, were now dull and dim. She had dark circles under her eyes. Nigel’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched her enter and take a seat opposite them.

“You wanted to see me?” she said.

“I wanted to speak to you,” Nigel said. “I want to make some sense of what happened these last few months.”

The brief leaned forward officiously. “My client will not be making any self-incriminating statements. I shall instruct her not to answer any question of yours that would cause her to incriminate herself.”

“Dina,” Nigel said, “can’t you and I just talk, without these lawyers around us?”

“Forget it, Mr. Chaucer,” the brief said. “Out of the question.”

“I heard you’re pleading insanity,” Nigel said to Dina, ignoring the brief.

“She has no comment on that,” the brief said stiffly.

“Seven counts of first-degree murder, two counts of attempted murder. One of those attempts, of course, was against me,” Nigel continued.

“She has no comment.”

Nigel narrowed his eyes at Dina. “Were you shocked when I vanished like that? Did you expect to complete the job without a problem? Were the others easier targets? Did you just shoot to kill those times? Did your aim improve after your failure to kill me outright?”

“Mr. Chaucer…”

“I want to tell you about Marcus Belby, Dina,” Nigel went on. “Did you know he was engaged? His parents were helping him plan the wedding. Did you know that? Marcus was a hell of a Healer, you know. His patients miss him so much. Do you care about that, Dina? Do you care that you took a friend from us? Does any of that make a difference to you?”

The brief scowled. “Mr. Chaucer…”

“Hang on,” Nigel replied, growing angry, “I want to know why you did this, Dina! You shot ME, you nearly shot my WIFE! Did you know my wife is pregnant with our fourth child? I want to know you did this!”

“She has no comment, Mr. Chaucer!”

“It didn’t work anyway,” Dina muttered.

“Miss Florescu,” the brief snapped. “I must advise you not to say another word about this.”

“My mother died, you see, three years ago,” Dina explained. “I was still in Cornwall when it happened. Freaked me out, you know?”

“Miss Florescu…”

“I swore that I would never succumb to death like that,” she went on. “My mother suffered a long, painful, agonising death, and she was totally alone! There was no way I would go through that!”

“So an infusion of magical blood, and all is well?” Nigel asked, furious.

“It didn’t work! I tried everything! All those spellbooks and books of shadows and nothing worked!” Dina cried.

“Miss Florescu,” the brief said warningly. “I must ask you to stop this instant!”

“What do you think we are, Dina?” Nigel continued. “Cartoon characters? Mythical creatures?”

“No…” Dina started.

“We are living, breathing, HUMAN beings, Dina! We are no different from you in any way other than our magical ability! Is that clear?”

“Nigel, you have to stop now,” McDowell warned. “You are compromising the prosecution!”

“That’s not true!” Nigel retorted. “Her counsel is here. Dina is speaking freely!”

“And against advice of counsel,” McDowell replied.

“By her own choice!” Nigel confirmed.

McDowell stood up. “I believe this interview is over,” he said to Dina’s brief.

“Dina, you have to tell me!” Nigel insisted. “Why did you do this to us!”

“Miss Florescu, I must insist that you not say another word!” the brief shouted. Dina obeyed. The brief knocked on the door to admit the guard, who escorted the two women out of the room.

Nigel slammed the table with his fists, then waved his hand, causing the chairs to smash into the walls. “Bitch!” he spat.

“Nigel, you were way out of line,” McDowell said reluctantly. He pulled out his wand and set the chairs upright again.

“NO! There was so much I wanted to know!”

“But Nigel, she’s under indictment! There is no way her lawyer was going to allow her to answer your questions! You know that, Nigel!”

All Nigel could was fume and rage.

* * * * *

Throughout the following week, Nigel could barely focus on his work—his mind was consumed by fury at Dina’s refusal to explain herself. He knew she would have compromised herself by talking, but Nigel didn’t care about that. Some reason, any reason, even something insane, would have sufficed. But this silence, this void—it was maddening.

The engagement party Nigel and Ginny had planned for Draco and Greta had been postponed, for obvious reasons, and as May turned into June, the purpose of the party changed as well. The two couples celebrated Draco’s 27th birthday rather quietly, and the day afterward, Nigel and Ginny didn’t see or hear a single word from them for six entire days—Draco, Greta, Abraxas and Paige were suddenly and abruptly absent from every far corner of Malfoy Manor, making Nigel very suspicious. Sure enough, upon their return, Ginny was the first to notice the white gold rings on Draco and Greta’s left hands.

So it became a huge wedding bash.

Nigel decided not question his friend or to nag him in the least about this rash decision—perhaps Draco was just lonely and needed a woman. Men often did that. Nigel remembered a friend of his father’s, a man who remarried only eight months after his wife died. Nigel supposed that it was easier for women to be on their own than it was for men. Women had their friends, their hobbies, their children, their creativity. That stuff wasn’t so easy for men—occasionally, Nigel thought about what he would do should he suddenly be alone. He saw what loneliness had done to Harry, and he hated to think of himself becoming so miserable.

To Nigel’s relief and joy, Harry showed up at the party, with Luna on his arm.

“I’ve never been here before,” she said in her dreamy voice, looking with wonder at the opulence of the place.

“You were here the night we battled Lord Voldemort,” Harry reminded her. “Remember?”

“It didn’t look like this though,” Luna said. “There were more bibbleshiffs back then. They blocked out all the light. I like it better now.”

Nigel took their cloaks, which he handed off to the House Elf. “Luna,” Nigel said, kissing her on the cheek. “You look spectacular. Harry, glad you made it.”

“So where is the happy couple?” Harry asked. “I suppose Greta’s up the duff or something.”

“Not yet, Potter,” Draco said behind him.

“I’m disappointed in you, Draco,” Harry chided. “You’re losing your touch.”

“All for a good cause, right?” Draco replied coolly. “Luna, you look lovely tonight.”

“How is your mother doing, Draco?” Luna asked.

Both Nigel and Harry gasped, but Draco took it in stride. “She’s mad as a hatter, I’m afraid. That’s what life in Azkaban does to a person. Shall I show you about the place? I don’t believe you’ve been here since we had all that nonsense with Lord Voldemort.”

“How did you get rid of the bibbleshiffs?” she asked in earnest.

Harry and Nigel threw smirks at each other, eagerly awaiting Draco’s response. Draco narrowed his eyes for a split second, then turned diplomatically towards Luna.

“Well, I had the House Elves take care of all that sort of thing,” he explained. “We did quite a massive refurb around here after Mother and Father went away, so I expect that all those unseen pests and obstacles were properly dealt with.”

Nigel suppressed a snigger, though he privately felt proud of Draco at that moment—the temptation to insult her must have been overwhelming. To Nigel and Harry’s astonishment, Draco took Luna by the arm and went off to the next room with her, explaining each and every element of the décor to her.

“That was an act of heroic virtue,” Harry noted.

Nigel nodded in agreement. “I guess Greta’s had a positive influence on him. He’s been up to his usual snark for too long. Nice to see him…nice.”

“He shouldn’t get too nice, though,” Harry said. “I don’t think I could stand that.”

Nigel laughed. “You couldn’t stand him when he was a jackass.”

“True,” Harry admitted. “But that’s sort of natural for him, isn’t it? I’d hate to see Malfoy abandon his true self, just to be a nice guy.”

Nigel laughed again.

“Say, Nigel,” Harry said, “are you going to have to testify in court?”

“I had to make a statement to the muggle Q.C., about what happened when Dina shot me.”

“Did you tell her you disapparated?”

“I had to, didn’t I? There was no other way I could explain my escape,” Nigel said. “Plus, everyone knows I could do that anyway.”

“True. So you won’t have to go to court?”

“The Q.C. accepted her plea. I guess they had her analysed and everyone seemed to agree that she’s out of her mind. Frankly, that makes me a bit worried.”

Harry frowned. “But she’ll go to hospital, right?”

Nigel nodded. “The problem is that if she’s ever deemed well, then they can let her go free.”

“But she killed seven people! I doubt she’ll ever see the light of day again, Nigel,” Harry replied.

Nigel scowled. “I hope you’re right.” 

He took a long drink of champagne and led Harry into the ballroom, where everyone ate and laughed and danced and caroused. Everyone was there—Vincent Crabbe, Blaise, Millie, Ernie Macmillan, Parvati and Seamus, Padma, Dean and his cousin, Brian, Hermione and Ron. Even Snape and Allegra showed up—Nigel thought Allegra looked particularly stunning that night, so newly restored to health, dressed like a queen in scarlet and gold robes. Fred and George Weasley brought fireworks, which they set off at midnight, outside over the lake so that the waters reflected all the sparkling lights in green, pink, blue, red, gold, and every other colour imaginable. After the fireworks, the party continued outdoors, with more dancing, on into the early hours of the morning.

By the time the last guest had disapparated for the night, Nigel and Ginny were exhausted. Draco and Greta had already retired to their bed, where Nigel was sure the newlyweds were not merely sleeping. Nigel checked on the all the kids, both Weasley-Chaucer and Malfoy, and then climbed into bed with Ginny, who was already fast asleep. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but there was just too much on his mind. After a half-hour of fruitless tossing and turning, Nigel got up and put on an old set of robes, then went soundlessly downstairs to the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of milk.

Nigel took his glass and went outside, strolling barefoot down the cool grass, heading towards the lake. The waters were calm and placid. Staring at the water, Nigel moved his finger about in small circles, causing a whirlpool in the centre of the lake. Then, he moved his finger upward, so that the water at the centre of the eddy suddenly sprouted up, like a geyser or a fountain. Nigel laughed.

He thought about Dina.

What was this thing called magic, Nigel wondered? For as far back as he could remember, Nigel had always wanted magic powers. He supposed every muggle child did. As a boy, he thought that magic was all pretend, just child’s play. It was the stuff of comic books and movies and legends. He knew it wasn’t real. Life and experience and reason told him that long ago. And yet, here he was, nearly twenty-seven years old, in possession of powers—or were they abilities?—that he had formerly dismissed as fantasy. He had been happy to play pretend, maybe even do some card tricks or learn sleight of hand, but that was all. But it was different for people like Dina, who never thought of magic as anything other than a real force in the world. 

As Nigel grew to understand and appreciate his own magic, especially as an adult and as a father, he began to see how much he had lost touch with the muggle world. Fantasy had become all too real for Nigel, and he forgot that the muggle world hadn’t changed with him. That rift, he supposed, put him directly at odds with someone like Dina. Was it fair that he had received such profound magical ability when he never wanted it, while someone like Dina, who so desperately sought magic in her own life, went without? She had tried everything in her power to learn magic, only to find herself so frustrated that she descended into violence. It was her own lack of understanding about what magic really was, Nigel reckoned. Like most muggles, Dina had a limited and unrealistic view of magic—Nigel had to admit that he had once shared this point of view, even after he had become a wizard. It was Severus Snape who had disabused Nigel of most of his illusions and myths.

His son, George took care of the rest. To have a son with no magical ability at all was an unexpected stroke. At first, Nigel wanted to think of it as a sort of cruel joke—most wizards would have agreed. For centuries, Squibs had been every family’s dirty little secret, something no wizarding family wanted to admit to, as if the presence of a Squib in the family made everyone else seem…unworthy. Nigel’s temptation was to feel the same way—therefore, it seemed so critical to figure out just how to “deal with” his son’s apparent disability.

But was it really a disability? It was a dilemma, to be sure. George was not a muggle but he had no discernable magic, either. What was he exactly? And didn’t he have a right to decide that for himself? Of all his sons, George was the clingy one, the one who worshipped at his father’s feet, just as Draco had done with his father. That worried Nigel more than the issue of magic. One thing that was clear to Nigel was that George had to find his own strength, his own voice, without reference to anyone else. That would give George what he needed to make his way through life, able to hold his head high. But the question was, how to help George find that voice? And where?

* * * * *

_Dear Healer and Mrs. Nigel Weasley-Chaucer,  
You are cordially invited to attend the induction ceremony of Severus Snape as Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, this 28th of June, 2007, at six o’clock in the evening. Furthermore, you are invited to sit at the Headmaster’s table as his honoured guests._

_Childcare will be provided by the Patil Academy for Young Witches and Wizards. We eagerly await your RSVP._

_Sincerely,  
Mrs. Muriel Smith, Director  
Board of Governors, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 

Nigel decided to bring his cousin a little present, though he was sure Snape would strenuously object. But Nigel couldn’t help himself. He thought long and hard about what to bring, and finally came to a final decision. A week before the ceremony, Nigel paid a visit to his parents’ house, wanting to look at his old bedroom. Mrs. Chaucer had kept it relatively the same, though the curtains were new. The room was now used as a guestroom.

Nigel looked all round for it…there it was, on the same shelf where it had been since he was sixteen. Nigel took the little box off the shelf and dusted it off.

“You’re not giving that to him, are you?” Mr. Chaucer asked. “That’s a family heirloom. He already has one!”

“Oh no, Dad, I’m not giving it away. But I need it for something.”

Nigel apparated to an old friend, a Mr. Veneficus, the man who made his wand years ago. He hadn’t seen the old man in ages—he looked very much the same, as grizzled and compelling as ever. Nigel showed him the box.

“Made by our ancestor, Lydia Prince,” Nigel told him.

“It’s beautiful! Such delicate craftsmanship. Lovely! What would you like me to do with this box?” Veneficus asked.

“I’d like you to make a ceremonial wand, with the image on the box reproduced for the handle of the wand.”

Veneficus grinned and nodded. “Why on the handle?”

“Severus taught me that the handle is the nexus of power in a wand, when held properly,” Nigel replied. He hoped that was right.

“True. Severus taught you well. I think it’s a lovely idea for a gift. I can, you know, make this more than just a ceremonial wand. In fact, Healer, I can make two wands that can have a unique connection, just as you and your cousin have a unique connection. Would you like that?”

“Certainly! What sort of connection do you mean?” Nigel asked.

“Your magic can be woven together, actually,” Veneficus explained. “One can enhance the spells of the other, even remotely. What you do can be increased by what he does.”

That boggled Nigel’s mind. “Is that right? I mean, should that be done?” Again, he thought of Dina’s grasp for power.

Veneficus smiled gently. “You and Severus are very good men, with honourable intentions. I wouldn’t worry about it. Return to me on Wednesday, just after the moon rises, and the wands will be ready. Over the summer, I will show both of you how these wands work together.”

True to his word, Veneficus finished the two wands precisely when he promised. Nigel couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw them—they were the most extraordinary wands he had ever seen. Veneficus had done the carving of the image perfectly. Nigel couldn’t have been happier with the results.

“What do I owe you?” he asked, pulling out his moneybag, which he overstuffed on purpose, knowing this would be very expensive. He decided to tell Ginny the price after the fact, fearing a tirade about saving money and we’re looking for a house soon and we’ve got a baby on the way and three others to educate.

“My price is simple,” Veneficus said. “Come outside with me. And put that moneybag away. I don’t want your gold.” He indicated for Nigel to follow him out the back door.

Nigel gasped when he saw it. Then he laughed.

Veneficus winked. “I see you remember your last visit here.”

“Oh yes, yes I do. Would you like me to chop all these logs for you?”

Veneficus nodded. “It won’t chop itself, will it? This is my price, son. Chop up all this nice wood, just as you did before.”

Nigel smirked. “Should I picture my enemies this time, like I did before?”

“Do you need to?”

Nigel thought about it. He could have imagined Dina as he chopped all that wood, thought about the pain and suffering she caused him and his family and his entire community. But then he thought about her pathetic appearance in jail, about the grim future she faced in a mental institution for the rest of her life. He sighed.

“I guess not,” he replied. “I guess I’ll just picture myself being done with the job.”

“I’ll put the kettle on.”

Two exhausting hours later, Nigel finished chopping the last block of wood. He set the axe down and mopped his sweaty brow with a conjured towel. This was a lot harder than it had been before, when he was only eighteen years old. Nigel suddenly felt far older than he truly was. He knew his body would feel the effects of all this strenuous activity when he woke up tomorrow. Perhaps a warm bath tonight—perhaps in Draco’s massive bath—would stave off the worst of what he anticipated.

The tea Veneficus made had a magic touch to it, as did everything the old man made. Nigel found himself drinking down four cups of the stuff, feeling stronger and calmer with each cup.

“I put a few drops of potion in the tea,” Veneficus said. “It’s a little formula to take away muscle pain.”

“Thank you for this. And for these beautiful wands.”

Veneficus sat back and drank his own tea. “I expect Severus is nervous about this appointment,” he observed. “But I believe the school will flourish under his leadership.”

“I hope so. I suppose some will have their doubts, considering his past and all.”

“Severus has the right approach to magic. He will raise the standard, both for students and for staff. Hogwarts will never be the same again.”

Nigel wondered at that statement. He knew all too well that Snape was an aggressive, demanding perfectionist, especially when it came to matters of magic. Many students over the years had suffered terribly under his command—Nigel could remember times when he felt overwhelmed by Snape’s impossibly rigourous standards of performance, and he worried about whether the student body was prepared for this.


	12. Epilogue: Headmaster Severus Snape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A former Death Eater as Headmaster? What changes will Severus Snape bring to Hogwarts?

The Great Hall was far more crowded than usual, more crowded, in fact, than Nigel had ever seen it. Not only was the room filled by the four House tables, all brimming with students, but with an additional table for guests, dignitaries and friends. The room buzzed with excitement and anticipation, and rumours and stories flew about the place, both the humourous and the scandalous. Most wondered whether the appointment of Severus Snape as Headmaster was a bold move forward or a tragic mistake.

After dropping the children at the Patil Academy, Nigel and Ginny apparated to Hogwarts for the ceremony and End of Year Feast. They arrived at the same time as Draco, Greta, Harry, Luna, Hermione, Ron, and Blaise. Some of the Governors also attended the ceremony, as did Kingsley Shaklebolt, Arthur and Molly Weasley, Remus and Dora Lupin, and a grumbling Alestor Moody. Everyone greeted each other, mixed and mingled and looked nostalgically about the place until at long last, Professor McGonagall called everyone to order. All parties took their place—Nigel and Ginny sat at the Staff table, between Snape and Neville Longbottom.

“We will start with a few end of term announcements,” McGonagall began. “And then our new Headmaster will sign the Hogwarts Book of Shadows, and the feast shall begin.”

Murmuring. Lots of buzz and wondering.

“Now then, to get things underway, we must conduct two very important pieces of business that I know everyone has eagerly awaited,” McGonagall continued. “First of all, I shall start our evening’s proceedings by awarding the Quidditch Cup to Slytherin!”

A giant roar of applause exploded from the Slytherin table—both Snape and Nigel stood up and applauded their team as the team members stood to acknowledge their victory.

“Yes, well done, Slytherin, well done! Just be aware that next year’s Gryffindor team will one of our very best. Don’t sit too securely, Headmaster,” she said to Snape, who threw her an imperious gaze. “Second,” McGonagall went on as the din settled down, “it is time to award the House Cup. In fourth place, with 329 points—Ravenclaw! Perhaps fewer detentions next year will yield you better results, Ravenclaws. In third place, with 412 points—Gryffindor! I shall expect better from you next year, and I shall have more time to see to it! No more dirty tricks on the Quidditch pitch. Now then, in a very close second place, with 652 points—Slytherin! Which means that the winning house, thanks to some stellar performances in Herbology and in care of Magical Creatures, is Hufflepuff with 654 points!”

Another roar of wild applause, and not just from the Hufflepuff table. In fact, the entire school cheered for the Hufflepuff students, who so rarely won the House Cup. Again, the din calmed down, and McGonagall spoke up once more, giving a few notices regarding packing and getting to Hogsmeade on time and not to dawdle because the train won’t wait. Finally, it came time for the new Headmaster to take his place. Muriel Smith, Director of the Board of Governors, stood up ceremoniously and approached the two Heads with a very old, tatty book, which she opened. Snape stood up and stood between the two witches. He looked as cool and calm as ever, except for exactly three beads of sweat on his upper lip.

Smith handed a golden quill to McGonagall, who dipped it in a bottle of ink—both bottle and quill were encrusted with sparkling jewels. McGonagall handed the quill to Snape, who then signed his name to the book with a flourish and handed it back to Smith—she shook his hand, then McGonagall’s. That was it.

“Students, Staff, Governors, friends and honoured guests,” Smith said to the crowd. “As Director of the Board of Governors, it is my great honour to present to you the new Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—Professor Severus Snape.”

The entire Slytherin table jumped to their feet with thunderous applause—from the Staff table, Nigel and Draco stood, too. Soon the Gryffindors stood to applaud, followed by the rest of the student body and the rest of the room. At first, Snape looked as inscrutable as ever, as if he were figuring out how to respond to this tidal wave of appreciation and affection. He glanced briefly at Nigel, who grinned and cheered and laughed. Snape smirked wickedly, then raised his hands to quiet the crowd. Everyone sat as Snape took the opportunity to speak as Headmaster for the first time.

“Thank you all very much,” he started. “I would first like to thank Professor Minerva McGonagall, not just for her many years as Headmistress of this school, but for her lifelong dedication to the students and to the spirit of this school.”

Everyone applauded wildly as a blushing McGonagall stood up briefly to acknowledge the crowd.

“I would also like to thank the Board of Governors for this appointment,” Snape continued, inclining his head towards Muriel Smith and the other visiting dignitaries. “My predecessors have set a nearly impossible standard for me to follow, but I shall do all I can to live up to their grand example.”

More applause.

“I shall not speak long tonight, as you are all eager, I am sure, to get on with the feast,” Snape said. “Furthermore, I was never one for such ceremony. However, I wish to announce two very significant changes that will take place at this school starting in the 2007-2008 academic year. As we all know, many of our students come from muggle homes or from partly muggle homes, and in that time, have acquired certain skills that I believe can benefit the wizarding community. In recent times, I have had the pleasure of getting to know several wise and intelligent muggles, and have learned quite a lot from them. They have shown me values beyond the limits of our world, and have inspired me to adapt these to ourselves. Therefore, over the summer we will hiring new staff next year to teach maths, British literature and Western philosophy. These subjects will be available to Third Years and upward as elective courses and will not replace the basics that we already have.”

Scattered applause. Hermione and Nigel cheered loudly.

“My hope is that many of you will take advantage of these subjects, as they will broaden your knowledge in general, not just about magic. We can no longer cut ourselves off from the larger culture of this nation, and while we retain our own discrete wizard culture, we can use these subjects to take a greater part in the wide world around us. The second change that will take place next year has to do with one of the most underserved groups in the magical community.”

Nigel sat up to listen carefully. He hoped.

“For far too long in our history, Squibs have been treated as third class citizens, and yet, nearly every magical family line has at least one Squib, sometimes more.” Snape shot a quick glance at Nigel and Ginny, then continued. “While it is clear that Squibs cannot attend muggle schools, for obvious reasons of secrecy regarding our world, they are by no means lacking in intelligence, and while they may not be able to perform spells, they can learn theory and function to a certain degree in wizard society. There is no reason to reject Squibs from our school or to send them down for their inability to do magic. Therefore, Hogwarts’ curriculum will be adding a course of study geared towards students who are Squibs. They will take the same subjects as everyone else, but they will learn certain subjects, such as Charms, Transfiguration and Defence, in a different way that accommodates their special condition.”

Ginny squeezed Nigel’s hand under the table. “He’s the best,” she whispered in Nigel’s ear. Nigel nodded in agreement.

“Undoubtedly, some of these changes,” Snape continued, “may bring a small share of controversy with them. That is to be expected. But in fact, these are changes that Professor Albus Dumbledore wanted to make years ago, but could not because of political unrest and war caused by Lord Voldemort. However, now that we are in an era of peace, we have reached a critical moment where we can, as a school and as a community, grow beyond the prejudices of the past and enter into the modern world, with our traditions and practices well intact. I speak not only as a Headmaster but also as a father when I say that these new changes will make Hogwarts a better place to study and to work. And now, enjoy the feast.”

More applause as Snape sat down. He tapped his crystal goblet, and at once, the feast appeared on golden plates—roasted chicken, beef, potatoes, vegetables, rolls and breads and every good thing. Nigel, however, was so thrilled by Snape’s speech that he could barely eat for five minutes. Ron, on the other hand, couldn’t stop eating.

“You’re bloody brilliant, Severus,” Nigel said as they ate. “You know that?”

“Yes, I do,” Snape replied icily. But then he cracked the slightest of smirks.

“Classes for Squibs,” Nigel mused. “Ingenious idea.”

“Not my idea,” he replied. “Albus wanted to do it ages ago, but the wizarding world wasn’t ready for it back then.”

“Well we are now,” Ginny said happily. “You’ve certainly solved a huge problem for us Severus. I’m sure many families will agree.”

“If you think I would allow a descendent of Lydia Prince attend a muggle school, dear woman, you are quite mistaken,” Snape replied with mock disdain. “Besides, your George would undoubtedly reveal all our secrets to some muggle toddler. We can’t let that sort of thing happen, can we?”

“Thank you, Severus,” Nigel said. “Oh, by the way, after all this is over, I’ve got a little something for you, just to mark the occasion.”

Snape rolled his eyes impatiently. “Didn’t we say no presents? Do I not distinctly remember that conversation? Or were you drunk when we spoke?”

Nigel laughed. “I was perfectly sober, Severus. Draco was drunk.”

“And Draco has brought no present, has he?”

Draco blushed. “Well, sir, you said you didn’t…”

Snape glared at him, then leaned towards Allegra. “He was never so obedient as a student, I assure you,” he said quite loudly.

Nigel, Ginny and Hermione laughed.

As the feast drew to a close, the students departed to their Houses to finish packing for the journey home in the morning. Many of the guests went home, but Nigel remained behind, letting Ginny return to Malfoy Manor with Draco, Greta, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville and Luna for a post feast party.

“I’ll join you all later,” Nigel said. “Don’t drink all the firewhiskey. I want to challenge Draco to a shooters contest.”

“You’re toast, Chaucer,” Draco replied dryly.

It took quite a lot of time for Nigel to get Snape alone—he had to meet and greet the Governors, their spouses and so on, talking endlessly about future plans and other dull things. Nigel could feel his cousin’s desperation to break free from all that diplomacy. When they at last were alone together, the two cousins decided to take a little walk outside, towards the lake.

“This is where I first kissed Allegra,” Snape recalled. “Right here. Twenty-six years ago.”

“I first kissed Ginny at the Three Broomsticks,” Nigel said. “Just outside the ladies’ loo.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Snape replied. “Not very romantic, Chaucer, though I must commend you for not kissing her inside the ladies room.”

“It was memorable, though.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “How could it not be?”

Nigel pulled out an elegant green velvet bag containing the wand and handed it to Snape. “This is something really special. It’s just between us, you and me. It was made for us, in fact.”

Snape gasped as he took out the gleaming, intricately wrought wand from its case. “My gods, Nigel! This is extraordinary.” He looked at the carvings on the handle and smiled. “Lydia Prince’s picture.”

“It was our mutual recognition as cousins,” Nigel reminded him.

Snape nodded, too overcome to speak just then. A tear ran down his face, but he didn’t wipe it away. “I was alone most of my life. For twenty years, since my parents’ deaths, I had no one in this world. You don’t know what that’s like, Nigel, to have not a single family connection in the world. The isolation and alienation is unspeakable. And then you came along, like a miracle…” He stopped, unused to such open emotion. Snape steeled himself and continued. “You changed my life, Nigel. You gave me someone to care about and to be proud of. In many ways, you’re like a son to me, you know that? Every victory you had as a wizard, I felt as a father would. You’re a wonder to me. I thank the gods every day that you got run down by that lorry.”

“And that’s a compliment, right?” Nigel asked.

“It brought you to us. You’re the Accidental Wizard.”

“True. You know, I used to be really afraid of you, when we first met,” Nigel said, laughing. “You were one scary piece of work back in the day.”

“And now?” Snape asked dangerously, one eyebrow raised.

“If I were a new student at Hogwarts, and I didn’t know you, you’d likely scare the shit out of me. You actually still do sometimes, Severus. It’s a real gift.”

“Being scary is a gift?” Snape chuckled at that.

“Oh absolutely. It’s a vocation.”

“Well let us hope that I don’t lose my vocation in light of this pathetically sappy moment. I detest sap.”

“Cheers to that,” Nigel replied. He reached into his robes and pulled out the twin wand. “The wand I gave you, see, has a twin. These wands were made specifically for each other by your friend, Mr. Veneficus. When we use them, either together or singularly, our magic is woven together. He’ll show us how to wield them whenever we’re ready and have the time.” 

“This is a beautiful gift, Nigel. Thank you very much. I guess this means I’ll never be rid of you.”

Nigel chuckled at that. He looked down for a moment. “I never want to lose that connection with you, Severus, no matter what happens or wherever life leads us. I know we’ve had our disagreements…”

“…all of which were your fault.”

“Yeah right. Sure.” They laughed. “Because you’re so emotionally stable, Severus.”

“More than you.”

“Whatever. Anyway, you’ve gone from being mentor and teacher to being my friend. You understand me more than most people do, and sometimes more than my parents or even my wife do.”

“That’s just because of magic. We have the same understanding of it, something most witches and wizards don’t really get.”

“It was so strange and scary when I first entered into the magical world,” Nigel said. “See, you don’t quite get how freaky we really are, Severus, because you don’t know any other world. But when you see someone just vanish for the first time—I just about wet myself! I remember how insistent you were that I study magic full time at Hogwarts, and how right you were.”

They stood together, looking out over the sparkling waters of the lake. In the far distance, the Giant Squid had just caught its dinner, which it pulled under water with a glug. Nigel and Snape turned back towards the castle, just gazing at its tall towers and candle-lit windows.

“It’s late,” Snape said. “There shouldn’t be so many torches lit at this hour. I think I’ll have to have a serious chat with the Prefects and next year’s Head Boy and Girl.”

“Do you think that one day, a Squib could become Head Boy?” Nigel asked as they meandered back towards the castle.

“If the price is right,” Snape replied sarcastically.

* * * * *

**September 1, 2015**

**_King’s Cross Station, Platform 9¾_ **

“GEORGE! Hurry up!” Ginny called.

“Come on, George!” Freddy shouted. “All the good seats’ll be taken!” He straightened his Slytherin robes as his brother struggled to catch up.

“I’m coming!” George shot back impatiently. “Sorry! I keep tripping over these new robes!”

Nigel crossed through the barrier after George, trailing Tom and Lydia, the youngest Weasley-Chaucer—at least for two more months.

“All right, you guys have everything?” Nigel asked Freddy and George. “Freddy, did you pack your toothbrush?”

“Yeah, Dad. You already asked me that. AND you conjured three extras!” Freddy replied.

“Because you forgot it last year,” Nigel reminded his son.

George stuck out his tongue at Freddy, who socked him in the arm.

“Boys! Stop!” Nigel snapped. “OK, Freddy, you’re going to watch out for your little brother, right?”

Freddy rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dad. And I’m going to keep him out of fights and away from the Goyle twins.”

Nigel nodded. “Precisely. And if he’s not sorted into Slytherin?”

“Then I give him hell!”

Nigel laughed, but Ginny did not. Freddy blushed.

“I congratulate him, whatever House he’s in, Mum,” Freddy said, more soberly this time.

“And keep out of trouble, Freddy, please!” Ginny said. “Whenever you and Abraxas get together, things seem to explode—literally! I don’t want to have to come and talk to the Headmaster again this year!”

Freddy winked at his father. “Don’t worry, Mum. We’ve got the Head’s daughter on our side!”

“If I recall correctly,” Ginny said, “Aurora was put into detention just as often as you and Abraxas.”

“That’s because she’s the one who keeps coming up with all those plans, Mum,” Freddy said. Nigel winked back at him.

Ginny frowned. “Well now you’ve got George to think about. Please be good, boys.”

“Bye, Mum,” Freddy said. He hugged and kissed both his parents, as well as Tom and Lydia. He headed for the train. “Come on, George! I’ll save you a seat for two minutes!”

“Ready, son?” Nigel asked George.

George smiled eagerly. “Yeah, Dad. I’ll miss you.” He hugged his father and mother, and Tom and Lydia. “Will you get us when the baby comes?” George asked.

Nigel nodded. “Cousin Severus…that is, Professor Snape, will send you and Freddy back when the time comes. Just don’t worry about things, George. Enjoy yourself and learn a lot. Keep the worries at bay, alright?”

“I’ll try, Dad. Love you both! Bye!” George dashed off towards the train, still stumbling over his robes.

“We should have taken those up an inch,” Ginny noted.

“Nah,” Nigel replied. “He’ll grow two inches this year. Maybe three.”

“He looks like you more and more every day,” Ginny said. “Freddy looks like his uncles. Acts like them, too.”

“No more fires for a few months, right?” Nigel said. But then he looked at Tom. “All we have to worry about is the wallpaper changing colour every hour, right Tom?”

Tom giggled.

Off in the distance, Nigel spotted the white blond head of Draco, accompanied by Greta and their four children. Nigel waved. Tom and Lydia rushed ahead to greet the Malfoy kids.

“So, got Abraxas on the train without incident?” Nigel asked.

Draco laughed. “After I made him promise not to explode anything this year. I threatened to have him booted off the Gryffindor Quidditch team.”

Ginny squeezed Nigel’s arm. “I bet that did it.”

“Oh yes,” Draco replied. “If he can’t beat Freddy academically, he can at least kick his arse on the Quidditch pitch.”

“That’s great, Draco,” Nigel said. “Nice attitude.”

“Malfoy pride. It’s genetic, I’m afraid.” The two couples, kids in tow, walked back towards the barrier. “So how’s the new house?” Draco asked. “Mayfair, right?”

“We got a good price for the old place in Chelsea,” Nigel said. “I worried a little, but then this muggle couple wanted to flip it for some massive amount, so they were ready to pay pretty much anything.”

“The new place is huge!” Ginny said. “It’s so nice for the kids to have their own room. And this new one,” Ginny patted her very pregnant stomach, “will, too. Nigel found a way of charming the house to add more rooms.”

“It was Severus’ idea,” Nigel said. “We sort of worked it out together.”

“Using those wands?” Draco asked, a little enviously.

Nigel sighed. “I wish these wands would keep our sons out of the Headmaster’s office.”

“I suppose we could Imperius them,” Draco offered.

“Or modify their memories so that they don’t know each other any more,” Ginny added with a laugh.

“Oh I like that,” Nigel said. “But I guess that would be sort of sad, wouldn’t it?”

Draco nodded. “No one raises hell quite like our boys, do they?”

Nigel placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder as they walked. “Nope. And they never will.”

“Life wouldn’t be the same without you, Chaucer,” Draco said.


End file.
